


An Exercise of Trust

by aces_mild



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: 'it' isn't even a proper pronoun undyne, Alternate Universe - Underfell, F/F, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Jerry Gets His Arm Cut Off, Past Abuse, Planning Torture As A Fun Date Activity, Sans is soft, Soul Bond, Suicide Attempt, alphys's stutter is unrealistic but i did my best, and it grows from there, but there are dark themes including but not limited to, even in the fell verse papyrus wants to be everyone's hero, if you like smut you might wanna look elsewhere, if you like soft underfell you've come to the right place, secrets and subterfuge, there's no graphic violence, this fic is mostly fluff, undyne misgenders reader at every possible opportunity, we kinda hop right into the middle of sans x reader's casual friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2019-11-14 00:50:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 29,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18042296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aces_mild/pseuds/aces_mild
Summary: You don't trust most monsters, but you definitely trust Sans. He's sort of an ass, and a total perv, but he's also the only monster you've met that hasn't tried to kill you. You consider him a friend, but...let's face it, you'd fuck him if he asked. Too bad your SOUL already belongs to the King, and the rest of you belongs to the Royal Scientist.Low on plot, high on fluff and humor. Rated M due to foul language and suggestive themes. No smut.No set schedule; updates whenever.





	1. Who Needs Therapy When You Can Just Cut Your Hair?

You haven’t budged from in front of the mirror in at least half an hour. You refuse to let yourself move until you do it, but you can’t force yourself to use the scissors gripped tightly in your hand. Whenever you try, your fingers twitch, your palms get all sweaty, and your arms start to shake. You end up pulling away each time, unable to cut even a single strand of your waist-length hair.

 

It’s no surprise, considering how steep the price had been the last time you’d cut your own hair instead of letting your mother do it. No visible scars, but the memory is clear as day when you close your eyes. Your mother’s words are a crystal clear and ice cold echo in your ears. 

 

You’re still standing there when Sans lets himself in. He’d been visiting more and more since you got back from Alphys’s Lab.

“Know anyone who would cut my hair for a fair price?” you ask him, not turning around.

 

He lets out a huff. “ain’t no way i’m lettin’ anyone near ya with a pair’a scissors.” 

 

You roll your eyes at his possessive tone, but if you’re honest with yourself, you’re not too keen on the idea, either. Having something sharp so close to your neck...it’s too good an opportunity for most monsters to pass up.

 

Emphasis on ‘most.’ You can count the number of monsters who wouldn’t straight up murder you on one hand. Luckily, one of them is making his way across the kitchen toward you.

 

“Then you do it.”

 

“what?” he takes a few steps closer, appearing behind you in the mirror.

 

You reach your hand over your shoulder and hold the scissors out to him. “Cut my hair.” He gives you a look caught somewhere between confusion and annoyance. “Please?”

 

He takes them, hesitantly. You free your hair from the loose ponytail it’s tied in. You were just going to lop the whole thing off, but this is better. You fan it out between your shoulder blades and show him how short you want it. “About chin length.”

 

He just stands there for a minute, holding the scissors by the blades. “imma be real with ya...i don’t know shit about hair. kinda hard to, when ya don’t have any, y’know? ya let me do this, and...imma fuck yer hair up real bad, sweetheart. you’d be better off askin’ the Boss.”

 

No, that won’t do. Papyrus has a soft spot for you, so he’s just as unlikely to kill you as Sans, but...well, there was no guarantee he’d do as you asked. You might end up with something more suitable to his sense of style, and just the thought of that makes your face scrunch up. “I don’t care if it looks bad. I don’t want anything fancy, I just want it gone.” 

 

Sans reaches out and takes some of your hair in his free hand, only to let it fall, running over his bony fingers.  

 

“What’s the holdup?” you ask. 

 

“...it’s just...i dunno...doesn’t it take a while to grow out like this?”

 

“Yeah, so?”

 

“seems like a waste to just...get rid of it…”

 

“Look, man, I just don’t wanna deal with it anymore. If it means that much to you, feel free to keep it,” you suggest sarcastically.

 

He glares at you in the mirror. “i ain’t gonna keep it. that’d be creepy as shit. but if you’re sure-”

 

“I am.” You regret getting snippy with him [ha], but you honestly weren’t expecting him to put up this much resistance...or any resistance, really. It’s just hair, why does he give a shit what you did with it?

 

Finally, he relents, switching the scissors to his left hand. “aright, fine, whatever.” He takes a step closer, to where he’s nearly breathing down your neck. His knuckles brush against your jaw as he collects the strands that frame your face.

You close your eyes. You hear him make the first cut, and instinctively flinch, wrapping your arms around your middle.

 

“fuckin’...hold still, will ya?” Sans grumbles. He’s annoyed, but his words are spoken softly. 

 

In a few minutes, your head feels lighter than it ever has, all that extra weight no longer weighing on your skull. You can’t remember a time when your hair was this short...you’d never had the nerve to suggest it to your mother. You reach up to run your hands through it, but Sans stops you, grabbing you by the wrist.

 

“m’not done yet.”

 

“Looks fine to me,” you say petulantly.

 

He gently forces your hand back to your side, away from your hair. “s’all uneven. gimme a few more minutes.”

 

You’re shocked, and you can’t stop yourself from letting out an incredulous laugh. “Don’t tell me you actually give a shit?” 

 

“shuddup and hold still.”

 

You do as he asks, marveling at how invested in it he is. He cuts off small tufts here and there. With the hair gone, his fingers keep brushing the back of your neck. It’s not an unwelcome sensation, by any means. Certainly not in contrast to being manhandled by Undyne. Er...womanhandled? Fish-handled…?

 

“there. s’bout as good as it’s gonna get.” He sets the scissors down on the kitchen table instead of handing them back. 

 

You turn your head, pretty impressed by his work. It was by no means professional, but it was certainly better than anything you couldn’ve achieved on your own.

“Not bad, bones. You might have a future as a hair stylist,” you joke, leaving your reflection to pull a broom and dustpan out of the closet. 

 

“why ya suddenly decide to cut it?” he asks, wasting no time in getting comfortable on the couch. 

 

“Oh, no reason, really. I’d just prefer not to be dragged around by my hair again any time soon. That’s all.” 

 

He stiffens, and turns slowly to face you, leaning one arm along the back of the sofa. “...undyne or alphys?”

 

“Both of ‘em,” you answer casually. It’s not like they were the only culprits. This was far from the first time someone had used your long hair against you like that, it had just been the last straw. 

 

You glance up from your task and make brief eye contact with Sans. Why does he look so...guilty? “Dude, what’s with the face?”

 

As soon as you mention it, it’s gone, replaced by his usual frown. “what face?”

 

You shake your head. “Forget it.” You put the broom and dustpan back into the closet, grab two sodas from the fridge, and join Sans on the couch. “Bring anything good this time?”

 

He digs a disc out of his jacket pocket. “mortal kombat.”

 

You can’t help but grin. Gratuitous violence and gore is exactly what you need right now. You’re not normally interested in games like this, but recent events have left you with more than your fair share of pent-up anger and frustration.

 

“ya sure are smilin’ a lot for someone who’s about to get t heir ass kicked.”

 

“Bring it on, bones.”


	2. Trust Is A Muscle, And I Don't Have Any Of Those

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This thing goes with the other thing. It's literally the same as the last chapter, but from Sans's perspective. Just...just take it. I spent my whole evening on it. It’s late, and I’m too tired to edit it, but...it exists, and I should probably go eat something now...

Sans walks in, and you’re just....standing in front of the mirror? You don’t turn around. Your back is to him...do you even know he’s here? He never knocks - halfway hoping to catch you doing something saucy - but maybe he should start. You just got back from being kidnapped, for fuck’s sake! What was he thinking? Barging in on you while your back is turned is a recipe for disaster. The last thing he wants to do is freak you out [at least, not by accident. Freaking you out on purpose is still fair game]. Aw, fuck, he’s just standing by the door like an idiot. Should he say something, or-

 

“Know anyone who would cut my hair for a fair price?” you ask him, not turning around.

 

Oh. So you had noticed him. There’s no way you could see him in that mirror...which meant you’d just assumed it was him. You sure do like to play dangerous games. Still, you should know by now that there’s no such thing as a ‘fair price’ down here. Letting anyone that close with a sharp object - any sharp object - is just asking to get dusted. Or, in your case, gutted. This week has been bad enough for you, there’s no way he’s letting any more horrible shit happen.

 

He lets out a huff. “ain’t no way i’m lettin’ anyone near ya with a pair’a scissors.” Shit, that’s not what he meant to say. Well, it is, but he didn’t mean to say it like that. You hate it when people are possessive of you. You’ve made that abundantly clear. It’s why you hate that hag of a mother of yours so much. The thought of you hating him the same way you hate her makes him feel a little sick. He heads over to the fridge to look for something to settle the stomach he doesn’t have, but your next words catch him off guard.

 

“Then you do it.”

 

Him? You want him to cut your hair? There’s no way he heard that right. He moves so that you can see him in the mirror. “what?”

 

You reach your hand over your shoulder and hold the scissors out to him. “Cut my hair.”

 

You can’t be serious. What makes you think he’s trustworthy? He’s just as capable of snapping your neck or cutting your throat as anyone else. Not that he would. He definitely wouldn’t. You’re the only living thing in the underground besides Papyrus that doesn’t want to kill him. But that doesn’t mean you should just hand him a potential weapon like this. 

 

“Please?”

 

Shit. You’re serious. You trust him? He still thinks you’re an idiot, but there’s also this other feeling. It’s kind of like pride, he thinks, but warmer. A lot warmer. He takes the scissors from you, half expecting you to change your mind. Changing your mind would be smart. Why aren’t you changing your mind? 

 

You free your hair from the loose ponytail it’s tied in and fan it out over your back. You grab a section of it and pinch it between your fingers. “About chin length.”

 

That’s it? That’s all the direction you’re gonna give him? There’s no way this is gonna go well. Not unless you talk him through it step by step. If you don’t, he’s gonna fuck up, ruin your hair, and then you’ll hate him. Probably not, but the fear is still there. He has to at least warn you. 

 

“imma be real with ya...i don’t know shit about hair. kinda hard to, when ya don’t have any, y’know?” Nothing. No response. “ya let me do this, and...imma fuck yer hair up real bad, sweetheart. you’d be better off askin’ the Boss.” Yes. There we go. That’s a good idea. Papyrus is great with this kind of thing. He’s got a real eye for detail, and what looks good with what, and a bunch of other things that Sans sucks ass at. 

 

Apparently, you don’t agree. Your face scrunches up, and you insist, “I don’t care if it looks bad. I don’t want anything fancy, I just want it gone.”

 

Nothing fancy, huh? Well, that’s good. Sans is pretty sure he couldn’t pull off fancy to save his life. He reaches out and takes some of your hair in his free hand, but he’s not ready to cut it yet. He realizes that he’s never actually touched your hair before, though he’s come pretty close a few times. It’s exactly as soft as he expected it to be...uh, not that he’s thought about it that much. He kinda wants to run his fingers through it, just once, while it’s still long- 

 

“What’s the holdup?” you ask.

 

You interrupt his train of thought. He flounders a bit, not sure what to say. “...it’s just…” ...kinda pretty, and... “...i dunno…” ...he hasn’t really had the chance to fully appreciate it yet, and… “...doesn’t it take a while to grow out like this?”

 

“Yeah, so?”

 

There’s so much of it. What exactly are you gonna do with it, anyway? Throw it out? Maybe he could ask to keep some…? No, he can’t, because that’s creepy and weird. He needs to not be creepy and weird. “seems like a waste to just...get rid of it…”

 

“Look, man, I just don’t wanna deal with it anymore. If it means that much to you, feel free to keep it.”

 

You can’t read his mind, can you? Because that was fucking spooky. He’s a bit wigged out by it, and glares at you in the mirror. “i ain’t gonna keep it.” Even if he wants to. “that’d be creepy as shit. but if you’re sure-”

 

“I am.”

 

That’s it then. You’re really putting your foot down now. He can hear it in your voice. He switches the scissors to his left hand. “aright, fine, whatever.” He takes a step closer to you, and tries really hard not to breathe down your neck. He reaches for the strands that frame your face, and accidentally brushes your jaw with his knuckles. Shit. He didn’t mean to do that. You didn’t flinch or anything, but he looks at your face in the mirror for reassurance anyway. When he sees that your eyes are closed, he revisits the possibility that you may, in fact, be an idiot.  _ Why would you close your eyes _ ? He could do literally anything to you right now, and you’d be completely unprepared to fight back. 

 

But he doesn’t do ‘literally anything.’ All he does, though reluctant, is make the first cut. 

 

You jump, and his SOUL practically goes flying out of his body. “fuckin’…” He watches you wrap your arms around your middle, eyes squeezed shut now. For a second, he’s worried he cut you somehow, but that’s impossible. He’s being too careful. It must’ve been the sound. “hold still, will ya?” he says, as softly as he can. It’s not like it’s your fault. 

 

He’s not sure what awful thing you must associate the sound of scissors with to flinch from it like that, but he’s absolutely sure it has something to do with your mother. This is just the latest example in a growing list of evidence against her. He recognizes abuse when he sees it, and it’s written all over you, despite your efforts to erase it. If she’s ever unfortunate enough to meet Sans in person, she’s in for a very, very bad time.   

 

He tries to cut your hair as even as he can, but he just doesn’t have a good eye for this shit. By the time he’s lopped most of it off, it’s a jagged mess. Papyrus would be livid when he saw what a piss-poor job he’d done. ‘SHE ASKED YOU TO DO SOMETHING AS SIMPLE AS CUTTING HER HAIR AND YOU COULDN’T EVEN DO THAT RIGHT? PATHETIC.’ Yup. Sounds just like him. 

 

He sees you reaching for your hair, and grabs your wrist without thinking. He immediately realizes you’re probably not cool with it, but...he’s gotta fix your hair before you realize what a mess it is. Before you can say anything, he mumbles, “m’not done yet.”

 

“Looks fine to me.” Thankfully, you don’t put up much resistance, but he does catch your pout in the mirror as you complain.

 

As gently as he can, he brings your arm back down to rest at your side. “s’all uneven. gimme a few more minutes.” 

 

She barks out a laugh. “Don’t tell me you actually give a shit?”

 

Of course he gives a shit. He wouldn’t normally, but this is obviously a big deal to you, so he’s taking it seriously. But, uh...you don’t need to know that. “shuddup and hold still.” 

 

He goes back and cuts off all the clumps of hair that are sticking out. It’s never gonna be perfect, but it’ll be good enough. He hopes. The whole time, his fingers keep brushing the back of your neck - you probably have no idea, but there’s this dark brown blotch there, like the one on your wrist, but bigger. He thinks you called it a birthmark? Anyway, he doesn’t mean to keep touching you there. He feels like he probably shouldn’t, what with how many times in the last week you’ve been choked, strangled, or otherwise grabbed by your neck. The bruises from whatever it was that had gone down at Alphys’s lab are still fading. But you kind of lean into it, and he wishes you’d stop doing that because not only does it make it harder for him to get your hair right, but it’s also making him sweat.  

 

Finally, it looks ok. He steps away from you and puts the scissors on your kitchen table. “there. s’bout as good as it’s gonna get.” You move forward to get a better look, and he takes the opportunity to get as far away from you as he can without making it obvious. Which, in this case, means moving himself to the couch. He just...needs a second to cool down.  

 

“Not bad, bones. You might have a future as a hair stylist.”

 

Sans is too busy thinking to respond. Thinking about how you actually thought he did a good job. Thinking about how to get some of your hair out of the trash without you seeing. Thinking about how absolutely sure you were that he wasn’t going to kill you. Thinking about how you’d just called him ‘bones’. Kinda different from ‘asshole’ or ‘pervert.’ Not very creative, but it still left him with that weird warm feeling again. 

 

All right. That’s it. He has to ask. “why ya suddenly decide to cut it?”

 

“Oh, no reason, really. I’d just prefer not to be dragged around by my hair again any time soon. That’s all.” You say it so casually, but it hits him like a bus anyway. 

 

He turns slowly to face you, leaning one arm along the back of the sofa. “...undyne or alphys?” It doesn’t matter. It’s not like he can do anything about it. They’re both more than capable of ending his sorry existence. Even just threatening them would land him in deep shit.

 

“Both of ‘em.”

 

Of course. He could just see it. Undyne, lifting you clear off your feet, your hair wrapped around her hand. Alphys, claws tangled in it, pulling you through the halls of her decrepit lab. Your poor fucking head. Your poor fucking neck! He was kind of impressed the thing hadn’t snapped. No wonder you wanted to cut your hair. He wouldn’t blame you if you’d wanted to shave it all off.     

 

“Dude, what’s with the face?” 

 

He frowns, hoping desperately that his concern hadn’t shown on his face too blatantly. “what face?”

 

You shake your head. “Forget it.” 

 

He turns on the crappy tv while you shuffle around a bit. It’s still on the console menu you’d left it on yesterday. Did you even watch tv? Not that there was ever anything good on, but what did you do for fun? Nope, no, that’s dangerous territory. He can’t think about that right now. Save it for later. 

 

You hand him a soda when you sit down across from him on the couch. “Bring anything good this time?” 

 

In his opinion, not really. But he’s pretty sure you’ll get a kick out of it. He fishes the disc out of his pocket. “mortal kombat.” You’re doing a damn good job of hiding your anger, but he can tell you’re pissed about what happened to you. He knows he is. 

 

You grin. It’s not a sharp one, like when you’re putting on an act. It’s softer, and it does something to your eyes he can’t quite put his finger on. 

 

“ya sure are smilin’ a lot for someone who’s about to get their ass kicked.”

 

“Bring it on, bones.”

 

There’s that feeling again. Guess he’ll just have to get used to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UF Sans is exactly as smart as his UT counterpart, but without an outlet, all those smarts end up being used to overthink things. The guy’s mind moves a mile a minute, and he second-guesses literally everything. It’s pretty handy for keeping him alive, but less handy when you’re just trying to do a thing, like, casually.  
> A lot of inspiration for my take on UF Sans comes from popatochisssp on tumblr, so, uh, go take a look at their stuff.


	3. How To Steal Sans's Coat: A Step-By-Step Guide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here. Y'all liked the first chapter so much, so...have some more? I have places to be, and no time to edit this. Maybe you'll like it anyway? I hope so.

You’re halfway to Sans’s sentry station before you realize you forgot to put on your jacket. You’d been too distracted to notice the cold up until this point, but now that you’re back in the moment, you’re starting to feel how little your ripped jeans and crop top are doing to shield you from the weather. Just like nearly everything else in the Underground, the chill is quick to sink its teeth into you. 

 

But you’re too stubborn to backtrack. You’d made a shitty decision and now you’re gonna deal with the consequences. Besides, you look  _ damn _ good.

 

You’re not the only one who thinks so, either. The few monsters you pass along the way can’t help but take a good, long look at you. It’s a real confidence booster. 

 

Of course, Sans is no different. He lets out a long, low whistle as you walk up to him. “well,  _ hello _ hot stuff. lookin’ good.”

 

“Oh, I know it, bones.” You shoot back. You reach the station and hop up to sit on the counter. 

 

“what brings a sexy little thing like you all the way out to my post?” 

 

No way you’re gonna admit to being lonely. “Thought you might like some company. Not like I had anything better to do, anyway.” 

 

\--

 

When he first sees you, Sans is one-hundred percent sure he’s asleep. He’s had this dream before, and has a good idea of where it’s going. He’s not expecting you to respond - your dream counterpart rarely does - but once you drop that nickname, he  _ knows _ he’s awake.

 

You hop up onto the counter with ease, and he can’t keep himself from taking in the bare skin of your midriff. He’s tempted to run a claw up your spine, but manages to restrain himself. 

 

He invites you behind the counter, where there’s an extra stool for you to sit on. It has to be better than the unsanded wood of the counter, and as an added perk, it’s close enough that he can smell your perfume. Fuck, he really wishes you hadn’t wandered over during his usual nap time. He wants to keep talking to you, but his eye sockets are getting heavy. He can probably keep the conversation going, he’ll just rest his head for a second…

 

\--

 

Unsurprisingly, Sans passes out after a while, leaning forward on the counter with his head resting on his arms. You take to scrolling through the phone Alphys gave you [for the sole purpose of being able to call you to her lab whenever she needs to run a test on you]. Your fingers are so cold, you can barely keep from dropping it. 

 

You’re not gonna last much longer out here, but you dread the thought of returning to your too-quiet house. You suck it up and try as hard as you can to keep your shivering under control.

 

You sneeze.

 

\--

 

Oh, for fuck’s sake, he fell asleep. He jolts awake when you sneeze, but is too lazy to lift his head. Eyes closed, he becomes hyper-aware of your movement. 

 

He had no idea humans could rattle. Or...are you rattling? You’re shaking, in any case. He can hear your teeth chattering, and the rest of you seems to vibrate every few seconds. 

 

Oh, wait, you’re cold. Duh. Of course you are, dressed like that. He’s not complaining - not by any means, because you look sexy as hell - but aren’t humans sensitive to the cold? He’s pretty sure it can kill them if they’re not careful. He’s tempted to tell you to scram, to head back home, but he gets the feeling you don’t wanna be there right now.

 

\--

 

Your shivering is officially uncontrollable. You’re desperate. Desperate enough to consider getting just a little bit closer to Sans, despite the fact that he smells like sweat and mustard. He might not have body heat, but if you just press up against him, at least you wouldn’t be as exposed to the air. But you gotta be casual about it. You gotta play it cool [ha]. 

 

You swivel on the stool and brace your feet against the wall, leaning your back against Sans. He’s close enough that you don’t feel like you’re gonna fall over, and you sink into the surprisingly puffy fabric of his coat. You immediately feel better. You’re still cold, but you’ll take what you can get.

 

\--

 

Sans struggles to remain stationary as he opens a socket and trains a single red eye-light on you. The fuck are you doing? You got yourself all bent outta shape...that sitting position can’t be comfortable. It looks awful for your back. 

 

He knows he should say something, but you’ve never been this close to him before. The only thing between your spine and his ribcage is his coat and the thin t-shirt underneath. He really doesn’t want you to move away...but maybe there’s a way to get you even closer. 

 

“y’know, dollface, this coat’s big enough for two…” he says without moving. He’s supporting most of your weight, at this point, and he doesn’t want you to fall.

 

“Is it, now?” you sit up, and so does he.  

 

Facing you, he continues. “sure. so if ya wanna avoid turnin’ into a human icicle, I suggest ya move over here an’ get cozy with me.” Please, just say yes, sweetheart. Your lips are turning the same shade of blue as your eyes...not that he’s looking at your lips. Or your eyes. 

 

“How would that work? There isn’t even enough room for  _ you _ on that stool.” 

 

“whattaya talkin’ about?” He grins, and pats one of his femurs. “it’s not the most comfortable seat in the house, but there’s plenty of room for ya.” 

 

“I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” You growl. He just raises his browbones suggestively, grin widening. “No way, pervert.” 

 

Ouch. That stings. He’d almost gotten used to ‘bones’ and here you go spitting that at him again. He’s just trying to keep you from freezing to death. He’d definitely enjoy having your tiny, soft, warm body in his lap, but that was just a bonus. “how ‘bout if I promise to keep m’hands to m’self?”

 

“Nope.” 

 

Well, that’s it then. You’d made up your mind. You’re not even looking at him anymore, you’re eyes are glued to your phone again. Why are you like this? He lets out a sigh, guessing there’s really no other option.

 

\--

 

You turn your attention back to your phone, though you’re too cold to really focus on it. You can barely hear Sans shuffling around beside you over the sound of your body shaking, so you’re not prepared when the heavy weight of his coat lands on your shoulders. You freeze, caught entirely by surprise, before slowly turning to look at him. 

 

He’s leaning forward, chin resting in his hand, staring out into the dead forest around the station. He looks disappointed, almost sullen. Is he...pouting? Sheesh. 

 

Still, you’re pretty thankful to have something more to wear. You’ll never voice it, certainly not in public - that’s just not how things are done around here - but the feeling’s still there. You put your arms through the sleeves, zip it up as far as it goes, and flip the hood up to cover your ears. His jacket’s absolutely huge on you, big enough that your legs can fit comfortably inside once they’re pulled up to your chest, and the hem of it hangs down below the stool seat. 

 

It’s not warm at first, but heats up pretty quick. Finally, your muscles can relax. You hide the lower part of your face in the fur around the collar. You’re not gonna lie - it doesn’t smell great. But it doesn’t smell awful, either. Underneath the bitter smell of mustard [which you’ve just about gotten used to, since you spend so much time around the condiment-guzzling skeleton] is a hint of something smoky, almost spicy-smelling. You can’t quite place it. 

 

\--

 

Damn. You just up and disappeared into that thing. Can’t even see your face anymore, it’s obscured by the fur lining. You’re so small compared to him. So, so small. 

 

It’s a huge turn on.

 

It’s also fucking adorable. He can’t help but chuckle a bit. “where’d ya go, babygirl? it’s like m’coat ate ya, or somethin’.”

 

You mumble something, but he can’t hear you from in there. He leans a bit closer. “huh?”

 

You repeat yourself, but he still can’t hear you. He gets even closer. “one more time?”

 

Your words come out as a harsh whisper spoken through a grin. “My coat now, motherfucker.”

The laugh bubbles up from his chest before he can stop it. It’s not even that funny, just unexpected. Whatever he thought you were gonna say, that wasn’t it. Normally, any idiot dumb enough to try and take his stuff would wind up a pile of dust. But you? Hell, he might just let you keep the damn thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I combined perspectives for this one. Let me know if its better, worse, or about as fun to read as separating their perspectives into different chapters. Your opinions...they mean a lot to me...


	4. You Can Take A Punch [But You Shouldn't Have To]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So look this one happens after like a whole bunch of other stuff but the scene was stuck in my head so I had to write it. Tried to explain some plot things in here, so I'm sorry if the first half is a bit dense.

The first time Papyrus refers to you as ‘his human,’ Sans gets this cold sensation in his SOUL. It’s not jealousy - at least, that’s what he tells himself. It can’t be. He’d never thought of you like that. Even hearing Papyrus voice it disgusts him, mostly because he knows how much you’ll hate it. You’ll throw a fucking fit when you find out. 

 

But, technically speaking, Papyrus isn’t wrong. Once King Asgore realized you weren’t fit to be hunted, he’d given Papyrus permission to do with you as he pleased, so long as your SOUL was delivered to him in the end. Asgore had offered you to Undyne first, but she seemed preoccupied as of late, and couldn’t think of anything to do with you. 

 

Papyrus, though...Papyrus has plans for you. It’s well known that it takes one Human SOUL and one Monster SOUL to pass through the barrier. The SOUL of a deceased human works for this, but only once. After that, it dissipates, or loses all its Determination and becomes inert. 

 

However, humans have the ability to replenish their own Determination. So long as the human is kept alive, their SOUL could be used to pass through the barrier again and again. It would be ideal for venturing out onto the surface and searching for strong, healthy humans to participate in the King’s hunt. 

 

Papyrus knows that if he pulls this off, he’ll win the favor of the King, and might even be promoted to Captain of the Royal Guard in Undyne’s place. It’s the perfect plan. Flawless, really.

 

Except for one thing. 

 

The SOUL of a living human cannot be absorbed into the SOUL of a monster. Unless the two SOULs can share their power somehow, moving through the barrier is impossible. Alphys suspects that it is possible for a human and a monster to form a SOUL bond, but such a thing has never been done. It’s just a theory, the consequences completely unknown. 

 

Sans tries to explain to Papryrus that a SOUL bond is permanent. It’s not something you can just undo if it doesn’t work out. Once it’s done, you're stuck with that person until you’re nothing but dust. But his younger brother doesn’t seem at all phased. His plan is well worth that risk, in his mind. There’s no one truly worthy of sharing the SOUL of the Great and Terrible Papyrus, anyway. He’s certain that there will never be anyone that meets his standards, so he might as well make use of the one-time bond in a way that benefits his career.  

 

For a few weeks, Sans is unable to spend as much time with you as he had been. You’re rarely at home in the middle of the day anymore, with Papyrus dragging you with him to Alphys’s lab so she can run tests on your SOUL and figure out if his plan is possible. 

 

The good news is that his brother is too preoccupied with you to make sure Sans is doing his job. So he doesn’t. He starts spending a few hours during his shift just hanging out at home. Napping on the couch is way more comfortable than doing so at his station. He makes sure to leave before Papyrus gets back. 

 

But one day, Papyrus storms in around mid-afternoon, waking Sans up when he slams the door behind him. He’s pissed, and Sans fully expects to get an earful [and probably a beating], but it turns out that he’s not angry with the shorter skeleton for shirking work. 

 

He’s angry with himself. Absolutely livid, in fact. 

Apparently, he had become tired of waiting for you to submit to the bond, and had lost his temper. It wasn’t unusual, and Sans has been on the recieving end of his rages more time than he can count. This is different, though. It’s worse, because it’s you that got hurt. Papyrus isn’t necessarily concerned over your physical wellbeing - your injuries are minor, after all - but he’s frustrated because he knows this will delay his plans. He’ll have to earn your trust all over again, and that will take patience - patience that Papyrus just doesn't have. 

 

Sans doesn’t bother to say where he’s going before he teleports to your house. He stands at your doorstep for a few moments, staring at a few stray drops of your bright red blood on the snow underfoot. He wants to believe that you’re fine. He knows that you probably are, but he also knows what his brother is capable of. Maybe he should just return to his station. Seeing the damage will just make him angry, and then he’ll get frustrated because there’s not a damn thing he can do about it. What’s even the point?

 

Making sure you’re okay. That’s the point. Even if there isn’t anything he can do. 

 

You’re leaning over the kitchen table and fiddling with a long strip of fabric when Sans walks in. “hey, sweetheart. i heard what happened with the boss…” 

 

You turn to look at him over your left shoulder, clearly surprised to see him. He gets it. He hasn’t stopped by at all in over a week, and he hasn’t really been texting you either.  

 

“Where’ve you been, bones?” You ask, your voice sounding a bit tight. “I missed you.”

 

Fuck. He feels horrible all of a sudden. He was so busy trying to make the whole situation easier on him, he hadn’t really considered you might actually enjoy his company. He should say something, he should apologize, but he can’t find the words. A life lived in the underground erased them from his vocabulary.  

 

He notices that you’re trying to wrap the fabric around your arm, but you’re clearly having trouble. It keeps sliding off. “For fuck’s sake…” 

 

He walks up behind you. “lemme help ya.” If he can’t keep this shit from happening to you, the least he can do is try to make it better. 

 

You hesitate to turn around, so Sans reaches around you and grabs the bandage off the counter before putting a hand on your shoulder and gently turning you to face him. He notices your bruised cheek right away. It’s only just started to turn purple, and the discoloration is kept company by two small scratches under your right eye. 

 

What’s infinitely worse is the fact that you’ve obviously been crying, your eyes watery and red. Probably not because of the pain. No, you’d been through plenty of that and hadn’t shed a tear. This was...new. New and deeply unsettling. Just what had Papyrus done to you? What had he said?  

 

He checks his expression, making sure to keep it neutral as he carefully takes your injured arm into his hand. The sleeve of your shirt is rolled up to the elbow, revealing four long claw marks on the back of your forearm, and one slicing across your wrist. They’re red, raised, and angry-looking. He brushes his thumb over the cut over your pulse, and hears you let out a hiss. Fuck. Shit. Okay, don’t touch those, then.  

 

“They look worse than they are,” you say half-heartedly. He knows you’re lying, and shoots you an non-plussed look. Why are you like this? He knows it’s a survival tactic - he’s a pro at it himself - but you don’t need to do that here. Not when it’s just the two of you. 

 

He starts wrapping the long strip of fabric around your arm, moving his own clawed fingers carefully to avoid touching the cuts. He’s not sure how tight it should be, and keeps looking up at your face to make sure he isn’t doing it wrong. You won’t make eye contact with him. When he’s done, you fasten it with a clip to keep it from falling off again. 

 

“Thanks,” you say, your voice practically a whisper.

 

“don’t mention it,” he says. He released your arm and takes a few steps back. He hadn’t realized just how close to you he was. In a darker tone, he says, “seriously, don’t. i’ll get all kinds’a shit for it.”

 

You roll your eyes and smile. “Don’t worry, ya big softie. I won’t tell anyone that you have an excellent bedside manner.”

 

He narrows his eye sockets at you. “better not. i got a reputation to keep up.” Who was he kidding? His reputation was already in tatters. Two months ago, being called a softie would’ve been a huge blow to his ego. But coming from you, it was practically a compliment.    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Papyrus has a temper. A real short fuse. This story is split between the reader's and Sans's perspectives, so I feel like I have to stick up for Paps here and let you know that he does feel remorse. He just has an impossible time showing it, or even admitting that he did anything wrong. Boy's got a bad case of Narcissistic Personality Disorder, but he's not soulless.


	5. Chivalry Isn't Dead But You Almost Were

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, this sure was fun to write.

You’re at Alphys’s lab for your daily ‘observation.’ It’s been going on for weeks now, but you’re still not used to being without your SOUL. It makes you feel horrible. Empty. You’re in the test room that Alphys built specifically to separate you from your SOUL, so she doesn’t have to constantly be wasting her own magic to do it. You’ve been in there a while, and you’re starting to feel a little bit lightheaded, so you lay down on the cold linoleum floor. You pull out your phone and dial the most recent number. 

 

It only rings once. “whattaya want?”

 

“So, good news and bad news. Which one first?” 

 

“uh...good news.” Sans’s voice crackles through the receiver. The lab has perfect cell service, so the interference must be on his end. Snowdin station, then.

 

“Undyne and Alphys are finally hooking up.”

 

“nah.”

 

“Yah.”

 

“how d’ya know?”

 

You take the phone away from your ear and put it on speaker so he can hear what you can. You’re not sure where they are - probably a few rooms over - but they are  _ vocal. _ After a few moments, you hear Sans laughing on the other end of the line. “holy shit!”

 

You put the phone back up to your ear. “Yeah, it’s like...suuuuuper gross. I’m proud, but also completely disgusted.”

 

“yeah, no shit. couple’a fuckin’ animals…”

 

“Literally.” You chuckle, then continue, “so, the bad news…”

 

“lay it on me.”

 

“Alph left the machine on, and I’m still in it. Going on an hour now. Starting to feel...wonky.”

 

“wait, the thing that pulls yer SOUL outta yer body?”

 

“Yup.”

 

“shit, she just left ya in there?” You swear you hear a hint of concern in his voice, just for a second.

 

“Yuuuuup. That’s kinda why I’m calling…”

 

There’s a pause. “so the damsel in distress needs savin’, huh?”

 

“Fuck off.”

 

“well, i ain’t exactly a knight in shinin’ armor, but i could be  _ persuaded _ to rescue you…y’know, for the right price.” so much for concern. 

“I’m not doing you any favors, asshole.”

 

“come on, you know i don’t do anything for free.” Liar. He never made you pay him back. It’s a good thing the favors you owe him are theoretical, or else they’d be piling up. 

 

“...Whattaya want, then?”

 

“i’ll decide on the way.” He hangs up. 

 

You know he won’t keep you waiting, but in the meantime, you try really hard not to pass out. Focus on breathing. In...out...in...why is it so hot in here? Even lying on the cool floor isn’t helping as much as you’d like it to. You drape an arm over your eyes to block out the harsh lights on the ceiling. It’s too bright and way too hot. Why do you feel like you can’t get enough air…? Your arms and legs are all tingly...and you feel so...far away…

 

\--

Sans taps the glass window looking in on the observation room. “hey, sweetheart, yer hero has arrived.” You don’t move, so he taps again. “uh, hello? can ya hear me in there…?” you should be able to, if you can hear Undyne and Alphys. Man, they’re still going at it, huh? 

 

Seriously, though, why aren’t you moving? You look pale...or maybe it’s just the lighting? Are you even breathing? He can’t tell.

 

He looks over at your SOUL, which is letting off a steady red-orange glow in a nearby glass container. Looks fine. The monitor it’s hooked up to isn’t showing any alerts, so you’re fine, right? Wait. Can a human die if their SOUL is separated from their body for too long? That’s not a thing, right? He really hopes that’s not a thing. 

 

He switches off the machine, and it stops droning, but your SOUL doesn’t return to your body on its own, despite the port and connecting tube that’s opened up. Fuck, that’s not a good sign. He carefully opens the glass container. Still no movement. What now? He can’t just grab it. That’d be way outta line. 

 

Oh. Shit. Right. He has magic. Panic made him go and forget that he has magic, for fuck’s sake. He surrounds your SOUL with his magic, moves it out of the container, and rushes into the observation room. It doesn’t seem to be reacting to you at all, and you’re not reacting to anything - not even your name, which he’s not sure he’s ever actually said out loud - so he gets on his knees, bones clacking against the tile, and physically pushes your SOUL back into your chest.

 

Then he waits.

 

\--

 

You wake up pretty abruptly, and it’s like nothing even happened. You feel totally fine. 

 

Oh, hey, Sans is there. That’s weird. Wait, no it’s not, you called him. Why does he look so...sweaty? 

 

Oh. Probably because his hand is like, right on your boob. Just sort of resting on it, nonchalantly, like it’s no big deal. His sockets are wide, and his red eye-lights are staring directly into yours. That’s the look of a guilty man [at least, you’re pretty sure it is]. He’s been caught. This guy really has no shame, does he? 

 

“Wow. Coppin’ a feel while I’m out cold, huh?”

 

“what?” He pulls his hand away from you like you burned him. “no, i wasn’t...that’s not what i-”

 

“That’s pretty low, bones, even for you,” you say as you sit up, a shit-eating grin plastered on your face. “Lemme guess...that’s what you were gonna ask for in return for coming to get me, right? Well, shit, Sans, I woulda said yes! Still should’ve asked first, though.”

 

“quit it!  **_i thought you were dead_ ** .”

 

“Oh, that makes it way better!” Now you can’t stop laughing. He’s so flustered! You weren’t aware that he could blush, but boy is his face red right now! There’s no way you’re letting him off easy. “I didn’t realize you were into corpses. Although...given that you’re a skeleton, that would make sense.”

 

“ **_shuddup._ ** ” He stands up and storms out of the room while you’re still laughing. You follow out of the lab as he mutters, “don’t even know why i fuckin’ bother.”

 

“Y’know, usually guys are pretty happy about getting to second base.” He’s walking a bit ahead of you, looking possibly the grumpiest you’ve ever seen him.  

 

“That ain’t what I was tryin’ to do.”

 

“Right, right. Sure.”

 

“Ya callin’ me a liar?”

 

“Well, I ain’t callin’ ya a truther.” He shoots you a perplexed look, and you realize there’s no possible way he could get that reference. Bummer. 

 

Wait, is he actually upset? Not just flustered? You grab his arm - well, his sleeve, anyway - to keep him from getting too far ahead of you. “Dude, what’s your deal? I’m just messing around. If anyone should be pissed right now, it’s me. For, like, a bunch of reasons.” 

 

“but yer not. you think this is funny.”

 

“It’s hilarious.”

 

“no, it’s not.” He finally turns around and looks at you, frowning. “that happen to you often?”

 

“Passing out, or getting groped?”

 

“cut. the. shit. i’m bein’ serious, here.”

 

You shrug. “The answer’s the same, either way. Happens often enough that I’m used to it.” 

 

“so it’ll happen again?”

 

“Oh, yeah, for sure. But like...not for a while, probably.”

 

He stands there, looking through you for a while. Just as the silence is starting to make you antsy, he says, “get yer ass back to snowdin. if ya run into the boss, don’t mention this to ‘im. he ain’t gonna be happy to hear it, so keep it to yerself, got it?” 

 

“Yes, sir,” you grumble sarcastically, giving him the middle salute in place of a real one before trudging off towards Waterfall. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys might get another, much shorter chapter a bit later. I'll see how I feel.


	6. Your Soul Is Fine - It's Your Body That's Falling Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter. Finally, Alphys gets some dialogue. Honestly, I thought I'd get to Papyrus first, but here we are.

Well, that’s not how Sans wanted that to go. 

 

Sans sits at his Hotland Station, slumped forward as far as his spine will allow. He’s waiting on an inevitable call from Alphys. She’ll be wondering where her favorite test subject went, and there’s no way she’ll call Papyrus - the taller skeleton scares her shitless. Besides, she knows that Sans spends more time with the human, anyway. 

She’s in for a pretty unpleasant conversation, though. Usually it’s Alphys who’s got all the pent-up sexual frustration, but this time the tables are turned. 

 

He thought he’d play the hero part for a bit in the hopes of finally getting some sugar - just one kiss, that’s all he wanted. He’d wanted that for a while, actually, but it’s not like  _ he _ could kiss  _ you _ . He’d need lips for that, and he’s all teeth. No, it had been the perfect opportunity to get what he wanted without seeming like a total sap. And if you’d refused, he could just play it off as a joke and ask for something else. Money or booze or something. 

 

His phone goes off, and he lets it ring a few times before picking up. 

 

“what.”

 

“Please tell me the human is with you.” Oh? No stutter. He thought she’d be panicking right about now. 

 

“she was. i sent ‘er home.”

 

“Oh, thank God...I thought she’d gotten out by herself, somehow. The last thing I need is a human running amock in my lab.” 

 

Sans isn’t surprised that she’s more concerned about her lab than she is about you, but it does piss him off. “she was out cold when i found ‘er. care to explain that?”

 

“Out cold? I have no idea what you’re talking about. She probably got bored and fell asleep.”

 

His voice is ice cold as he answers, “nah, that ain’t it, doc. see, she called me to come get ‘er - since you were  _ busy _ an’ all - and not five minutes later, i walk in to find her passed out on the floor of yer lab, with all yer machines still on. i turn the damn things off, and ‘er SOUL...nothin’ happened. it stayed put right in that container ya built for it. i had to go and put it back in ‘er body m’self. now, i’m no expert on SOULs or nothin’, but that ain’t a good sign, is it, doc?”

 

Alphys is quiet for a while. When she finally responds, her voice is much quieter. “N-no...it’s not...a human SOUL’s delay or f-failure to return to its body is a sign of deterioration...one of the l-late-stage ones...h-hold on…” Alphys’s claws clacking on her keyboard can be heard on the other end. “...the final readings from today’s observation show that her SOUL is stable...there’s no sign of deterioration at all, in fact. There’s no reason for it not to return on its own…”

 

“well, ya better figure out how to prevent it from happenin’ again. if it does, i’ll have to tell the boss. ya don’t want that, now do ya?”

 

“N-no...P-papyrus doesn’t need to hear about this! It w-won’t h-happen again, I-I-I swear!” Ah, that stutter would be music to Sans’s ears, if he had any. Good to know some monsters still had a healthy amount of fear in them for his brother, despite his association with the human. “I-I’ll keep a closer eye on her...I’ll hook up some m-m-monitors to her body, to keep an eye on her v-vitals. If there r-really is a problem, It’ll be with her b-body. I’ll f-figure out what it is.”   

 

“good. nice talkin’ to ya, doc. always a pleasure.”

 

“W-wait! Before you go...you said you put her SOUL back yourself?”

 

“yeah.” 

 

“As in, with magic?”

 

“‘course. the hands-on approach ain’t really my style.”

 

“And it didn’t resist at all?”

 

“...no...why?”

 

“Well, it’s just...this human’s SOUL has always been rather avoidant. It shies away from magic - my own, Undyne’s, P-papyrus’s - and it doesn’t seem to take being controlled very well. You really had no trouble with it?”

 

“no.”

 

“Interesting...would you maybe be willing to stop by the lab tomorrow during the human’s observation so I can run some tests? I have a theory…”


	7. Why? For Science, Of Course!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter literally kept me up all night. Enjoy.

You hate this. You hate this so much. After yesterday, the last thing you want is to be back here, separated from your SOUL again. The only reason you hadn’t outright refused is because Papyrus wasn’t the one who came to pick you up this morning. 

 

Sans stands on the other side of the glass, looking almost apologetic. Alphys is next to him, fiddling with the machine, practically manic with excitement. 

 

You have no idea what’s in store for you, but you’re pretty sure you’re gonna have a bad time. You lean your back against the wall of the observation room and slowly slide down it to sit on the floor. Might as well get comfy.

 

\--

 

You look absolutely fucking miserable, and Sans can’t blame you. 

 

He’d wanted to put this off, but Alphys had bothered him about it non-stop until he’d relented. It was a solid reminder of why she’d been appointed as the Royal Scientist: her curiosity was an unstoppable force. 

 

Alphys finally gets the machine running, and your SOUL is dragged out of you and into the glass container on their side of the wall. Something about it seems different from yesterday. 

 

Alphys surprises Sans by removing your SOUL from the container, reaching in and grabbing it with her tiny hands. Her rough treatment of it makes him bristle a bit, especially when he glances through the glass and sees that you’ve curled in on yourself, your face hidden behind your knees. 

 

“Now, this test is very simple. We’ve tried it several times with Papyrus, but I want to see how you manage. All you have to do is hold it.” 

 

When Sans’s good eye flares to life in his skull, she pulls the captive SOUL away from him. 

 

“ _ Without _ magic,” she clarifies. “It’s not as easy as it sounds, and certainly not as easy as I’m making it look.” Easy? She’s got the poor thing in a vice grip. “As I mentioned yesterday, the human’s SOUL is rather avoidant. It will do just about anything to get away from you. Papyrus has had some luck in forming a sort of cage around it with his fingers. I suggest you do the same, at least to start.” 

 

She offers the SOUL to him again, and he holds out his hands. The moment she releases it, he laces his fingers together around it, while still trying not to actually touch it. The way it reacts is completely different from yesterday. Not only is it moving, it’s doing so erratically, almost too fast to follow. 

 

Despite his efforts, it makes contact with his bony palm, and a surge of ice-cold fear shoots through him...but it’s not his. 

 

You’re terrified. 

 

You’re so good at keeping your cool under pressure, he never would’ve known. Does this place really scare you that much? Does Alphys? Or...is it him you’re afraid of? 

 

He’s not sure what to do. Part of him wants to let go, so your SOUL can go back to you, but a more sensible part of him knows that’s a bad idea. If he lets go, Alphys will snatch it up again. Now he knows what that malicious grin on her face was about. She’s getting a kick out of feeling your terror, and knowing that she’s the cause. It makes her feel powerful. 

 

There has to be a way to calm you down. He tries to make eye contact with you through the glass, but you’re still huddled against the wall, face hidden. Maybe he should say something to you? No, not in front of Alphys. She’s smart - if he’s not careful, she’ll figure out that he’s not quite as tough a guy as he pretends to be, and certainly not as heartless as everyone believes. That kind of realization could spell disaster for him and Papyrus.

 

So Sans focuses on your SOUL and does...something. He’s not sure what, exactly. He just keeps repeating in his head that you’re fine. It’s just him, and he’s not gonna hurt you. You can relax. And slowly, painfully so, your SOUL starts to settle.

 

Alphys watches, enraptured, as he unfolds his hands. Whatever he did, it worked. Your SOUL is calm, and floats peacefully over his open hand.

 

“Yes…” Alphys hisses, “I knew my theory was correct...Papyrus simply lacks the patience for it!” 

 

“what? i thought ya said he already did this?”

 

“Oh, he’s tried. But time and time again, he’s failed to get her to cooperate. It was really starting to get to him. Though I can’t imagine he’ll be happy to hear that you succeeded…” 

 

“and what, exactly, did i succeed at?”

 

“The first step! Once the SOUL becomes cooperative, one can theoretically take Determination from it in order to pass through the barrier...of course, the next step will require quite a bit of trial and error to get right. Too little Determination, and you won’t be able to breach the barrier at all. Too much, and you’ll get to the other side...but you’ll definitely die from overexposure. Determination is incredibly powerful stuff, after all. Despite this resounding success, I’m afraid you’re just not suited to that kind of testing, what with your... _ condition _ .” 

 

“what’re ya sayin’?”

 

“That it would be best for you to instruct your brother on how to reach this level of cooperation with the human, so that I can conduct the trials with a more durable subject.”

 

Honestly, most of this is going over Sans’s head. He’s heard about Determination before, but isn’t sure what it is, or why it’s so important for breaking the barrier. He’s also pretty surprised to hear that Alphys already knows about him only having one HP. Guess he was right about her being dangerously smart. 

 

Hell, she’s dangerous in general. That’s what happens when a person’s curiosity outweighs their morality. He can see malicious intent in her eyes as she reaches out to take back your SOUL. This time, Sans is the one who holds it out of reach. There’s no way he’s putting it back in the mad scientist’s sweaty little claws. 

 

“fine. i’ll teach the boss how to do this. we done here?”

 

“I...suppose so, yes.”

 

\--

 

It’s awful at first. You can’t feel anything - not really - but you know when Alphys has you in her grip, even without looking. It’s an intensely uncomfortable sensation, like someone snaking a hand under your skin and squeezing your heart. More than anything, you just want it to stop. 

 

But then, at some point, you start to feel...calm. You’re fine, and you start to relax a little. Then you relax more than a little. Being scared shitless must’ve really wiped you out, because your eyes feel really heavy all of a sudden. 

 

You probably would’ve fallen asleep, too, if the door to the observation room had stayed closed. But it opens, and Sans makes his way over to you. It takes you a moment to recognize your own SOUL, with its bright red-orange glow, as he hands it back to you. You reach out and take it, instinctively pushing it back into your chest where it belongs. 

 

He asks you something, but your head’s all fuzzy, and you can’t quite hear him. Instead of answering, you just smile at him. Then Alphys is there, suddenly, prodding at you with her sharp little fingers. The two talk - or maybe they’re arguing? You’re not really paying attention. They seem to decide that you’re okay. Before you know it, you’re being picked up and carried away in Sans’s arms, and you finally drift off. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sans may have overdone it a bit. Don't worry, it's not lethal or permanent - reader's just suuuuper chill.   
> Also, I see Fell!Alphys as a high-curiosity, low-empathy individual. She knows too much for her own good, and will go to extreme and depraved lengths to get information. Also, she doesn't stutter in this chapter for two reasons. First, she's wrapped up in her experiment, and second, she's not at all scared of Sans - its Papyrus she fears.


	8. A Date With The Wrong Skeleton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oops, that's not the one you're supposed to be romancing. Oh well. It's not like you can say no to him, anyway.

You’re standing on the front step of the skeleton household. It’s freezing - as usual - but Papyrus won’t let you in, because apparently you’re going out tonight. “You’re taking me on a date?”

 

“Yes.” He’s ready to go. Well, you are, too, technically, but your ripped jeans and oversized sweatshirt don’t exactly match his three-piece suit.

 

“...Why?”

 

“My Brother Insists That We Strengthen Our Relationship.”

 

Yeah, that’s a bit hard to believe. You lean to the side so you can see Sans on the couch, but he won’t look at you. Instead, he’s watching the tv with an uninterested expression. He's definitely pouting.

 

Papyrus continues, “Going On A Date Is The Most Efficient Way To Do That.”

 

Of course, it all comes down to efficiency with him. Still, you get the feeling that he doesn’t know how relationships are supposed to work. How could he, when no monster in their right mind will even go near him?

 

“That’s...not really how that works...but fine,” you relent. “Let’s just get out of the cold.”

“What Do You Mean, ‘That’s Not How It Works?’” Papyrus moves out onto the front step beside you and closes the door behind him. When he starts walking, his long legs striding through the ankle-deep snow with ease, you have to jog to keep up with him. He seems to be waiting for your answer.

 

“Getting along with someone usually comes _before_ going on dates, not after.”

 

“Is That So?” His expression turns contemplative for a moment before he shakes his head. “It Matters Not. We Must Make Do With What We Have.”

 

“Which is, last time I checked, the bare minimum of tolerance,” you mutter. He either doesn’t hear you, or pretends not to. “I don’t get a say in how this plays out, do I?”

 

“No, You Do Not.” The two of you were heading north, and stop at the edge of the river. There, the Riverperson waits. Papyrus boards the boat first, then holds out a hand to help you get on. He might be a prick, but at least the guy has manners. He tells the Riverperson to take you to Hotland.

 

“Right, of course not.” You roll your eyes. “So, why are we going to Hotland? You hate Hotland.”

 

“Unfortunately, The Only Suitable Location For Our Date Is In Hotland. Waterfall Does Not Have Any Restaurants, And Grillby’s Is A Disgusting, Grease-Coated Nightmare.”

 

“Is it? Sans raves about it.”

 

“Sans Would Eat Straight Out Of The Garbage If I Let Him.”

 

Yeah, that sounds about right. “The restaurant you picked, it’s not anywhere fancy, right?” Given his getup, you assume it is. “Cuz I’m way underdressed. I didn’t exactly bring fancy clothes down here with me.”

 

“I Have Already Taken Your Inadequate Wardrobe Into Consideration. We Will Be Stopping At The Lab. An Acquaintance Of Mine Has Agreed To Meet Us There With Several Dresses In Your Size. This Was Last Notice, So He Was Unable To Prepare Something Specifically For You. However, He Will Be Taking Your Measurements Tonight So He Can Design Something For You To Wear On Our Next Date.”

 

Hot damn, he’s gonna have dresses _made_ for you? Specifically for _you_ to wear, and no one else? That’s awfully generous, which makes you suspicious. There has to be a catch.  

 

“You’re having a dress custom-made for me?”

 

“Several, Actually.”

 

“Why?”

 

“My Human Cannot Be Seen With Me In Such An... _Unkempt_ State.” He gestures to all of you with a look of disdain. “I Deserve Nothing But The Very Best - And You, Therefore, Must Look Your Very Best.”

 

Figures. He’s only dressing you up because they way you currently look reflects poorly on him. What an insufferable narcissist.

 

Still, the thought of getting all dolled up and going somewhere fancy has you a bit excited. More than a bit, really. You’ve never been anywhere fancier than the local italian restaurant, and while you don’t consider yourself a classy lady by any means, you’re sure you can fake it for a few hours. Whatever happens, it’ll still be better than some of the blind dates you’ve been on.

 

\--

 

You’re surprised to find out that Papyrus’s ‘acquaintance’ is Mettaton, that robot you’ve seen on tv a few times. He usually has quite the stage presence despite his...er...injuries? He even takes on multiple roles in the movies and shows he produces, but here in the lab, he seems downright meek. He brought a large selection of dresses for you, but most of them are too big.

 

“Good gracious, Commander, when you said she was on the small side, I didn’t think you meant _this_ small,” the robot quips, sizing you up. He looks nervously at the dresses he brought with him. “I think I have something that will fit her, but...well, it’s not really to your tastes, sir.”

 

“Whatever It Is, It Will Have To Do. We Are Short On Time.”

 

“Of course. One moment, please.” He rifles through the dresses - each one contained in a separate plastic cover - and pulls out one that looks about your size. It’s a simple black halter-top dress with a slightly ruffled skirt and an open back. It’s not your style, either, but one can never go wrong with black. You try it on, and are pleasantly surprised by how good you look in it. Once Mettaton picks out some heels, adds a few simple accessories, and does your hair and makeup, you look not just classy, but _refined_.

 

You have to admit, it’s a good look on you.

 

Papyrus seems pleased with the results, as well. Before the two of you head to your destination, Papyrus pulls something out of his pocket. It’s a small box containing a pair of rich red gloves, the same shade as the tie he happens to be wearing.

 

As you pull them on, he explains, “I Could Not Help But Notice Your Tendency To Cover The Scars On Your Arm. I Cannot Say I Understand This Habit Of Yours - Such Marks Are Signs Of Strength Here In The Underground - But I Would Rather You Not Be Fidgeting On Our Date. You May Consider This Gift As Compensation For The Injury I Dealt You.”

 

You can’t be sure, but it almost sounds like an apology. It’s probably the best you’re going to get from him, so you’ll take it. Besides, the gloves are definitely your style...or they will be, once you cut all the fingers off. They’ll make you look just a little bit dangerous.

 

\--

 

The restauraint Papyrus takes you to definitely qaulifies as the fanciest place you’ve ever been in. You feel out of place, knowing a girl like you doesn’t really belong here...but that makes it kind of thrilling. You’ve always wanted to crash a party like this.

 

You know you have to be on your best behavior, though, or risk angering your date.

 

Thanks to his reputation, the two of you are seated and served prompty. A waiter or waitress stops by practically every five minutes to ask if you need anything. They all look absolutely terrified of Papyrus, as do the other guests, but they don’t seem to have any issue looking at you with thinly veiled ire.  

 

Papyrus, meanwhile, seems completely disinterested. He’s sitting back in his chair with his arms and legs crossed. He hasn’t touched his meal. Suddenly, he speaks up.

 

“Tell Me About Your Aspirations.”

 

You pause, caught by surprise. You put down your utensils. “What’s that? You actually want to talk to me? You feeling okay?” You laugh, but his face remains impassive. “I guess I’d like to continue living. That’s the main one, right now.”

 

“Do You Have Any Hobbies?”

 

“Not anymore. I used to sing, back on the surface. I’m a bit outta practice now, though.”

 

“What Is Your Favorite Color?”

 

“Red.” Before he can ask you another, you fire off one of your own: “Why are you suddenly asking me all these questions?”

 

“We Are On A Date. Is Talking Not What Humans Do On Dates?”

 

You cross your arms, mimicking his posture. “This is less a conversation and more an interrogation…and usually, you don’t give a shit about me.”

 

He uncrosses his arms and lays one arm on the table, tapping his sharp fingertips impatiently. “My Brother Thinks We May Have More In Common Than We Realize.”

 

You let out a single, humorless laugh. “I doubt it.”

 

“As Do I.” He picks up his knife, probably looking at his reflection in it. Then, idly, he asks, “...Tell Me This, Human: When We Become Unimaginably Powerful As The Result Of Our Bond And Make Our Way To The Surface, What Is It You Would Like To Do There?”

 

Now _that_ was quite the question. With access to Papyrus’s magic, you could do some serious damage to the people who hurt you. You dislike many - some for good reason, some for no reason at all - but you really can’t be bothered to track them all down. That would take forever, and they’re probably not worth your anger anyway.

 

There’s only one person you can think of who deserves to face your wrath, only one person who has truly _earned_ your hatred...and you happen know where she lives.

 

“I’d make my mother pay.”

 

“Is That So?” Suddenly, Papyrus seems _very_ invested in the conversation. He sets the knife back down, leans forward in his seat, and folds his hands in front of him. “Tell Me More. Do You Have A Plan For Exacting Your Revenge?”

 

“Nothing set in stone.” In fact, it’s different every time you imagine it...which is pretty often.

 

He seems amused. “You Have Surprised Me, Human. I Did Not Think You Were Capable Of Harboring Such Dark Intentions. Laws Prohibit Murder Among Your Kind, Correct?”

 

“Oh, I don’t plan to murder her! That wouldn’t be right.” you say, laughing. In the next moment, your mirth is gone, replaced by a cold stare. “Death is a far greater mercy than she deserves.” you, too, find yourself leaning into the conversation. “I want her to _suffer._ ”

The Commander’s already toothy face breaks into a wicked grin. “Let Us Make A Deal, Then. In Return For Helping Me Achieve My Ultimate Goal Of Becoming Captain Of The Royal Guard, I Shall Aid You In Getting Your Revenge.”

 

“Sounds good…” Sounds perfect, actually. It’s not like you could get away with it on your own. You’re far too weak as you are.

 

Maybe this is what the two of you need to finally get on the same wavelength? Before, it had all been on his end - he needed you to get what he wanted, but you were just going along with it out of self-preservation. Now, there was a concrete reason for you to want this to work, too.

 

“I Would Be Willing To Give You Advice On How To Best Go About It On Our Next Date. And Perhaps The Time We Spend Planning Will Bring Us Closer Together.”

 

“Of course you’d think that ‘discussing torture methods’ would make a great date activity,” you mutter. “But you know what? Fuck it. I’m in. I mean, I don’t have a choice about the whole soul bond thing, but it’d be nice to put the terrifying magic powers I’ll get from it to good use.”

 

“Then It Is A Deal?” He reaches his sharp-clawed hand out to you.

 

You take it without hesitation, mirroring his chilling smile. “Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Revenge is never the answer. Reader is super bitter towards her mother, enough to be driven to violence over it. I guess it's up to you to decide if that makes her a bad person or not.  
> This one feels rushed to me, so I'll probably be coming back to it later to add/change some things.


	9. Accidentally Setting My Brother Up With The Girl I Like [And Other Mistakes I've Made Recently]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, this turned out a bit more dramatic than I intended. You're getting a heaping helping of plot here. Hope you're happy?

The second you and Papyrus are out the door, Sans lets out a groan of frustration and slides so far down the couch that he ends up sitting on the floor. He rubs his eye sockets with the bony palms of his hands. How? How had he fucked up so bad? 

 

He’d only meant to encourage his brother to compromise a bit. To let go of the idea of owning you and try getting to know you instead. To talk with you and not at you, for once. To spend some time with you outside the lab setting that scared you so much. All in an attempt to get  _ you _ to warm up to  _ him _ ...not the other way around. 

 

It didn’t have to be a date. Sans hadn’t suggested it - Papyrus had come up with that winner of an idea all on his own. 

 

And the worst part? Sans has absolutely no right to be as angry or jealous about it as he is. Papyrus’s plans for you have been crystal clear from the beginning. He’s known from the get-go that it will never work out, but he’s gone and gotten attached to you anyway. 

 

Not on purpose, it kinda just...happened. The problem isn’t that he wants to fuck you - that by itself wouldn’t have affected anything. No, the problem is that he also happens to actually like you...like, as a person. It’s out of his control. In fact, it’s your fault! All that confidence, the way you dressed, the things you  _ said _ ...you’re doing it all on purpose. Definitely. Probably. Okay, maybe not, but it didn’t matter! He’s fallen for it. He’s fallen for you, and he hates it, because he knows how all this is going to end.  

 

But if he was the only one who suffered for it, that’d be fine. He could deal. At least it was the kind of hurt that wouldn’t kill him. He just hadn’t been expecting his brother to try turning your partnership into something more than platonic. That’s what he was trying to do, right? He’d pulled out the dating manual and everything. Sans was baffled. Papyrus had never been interested in that sorta thing! 

 

Romantic relationships in the Underground are unheard of. They never last. Nobody but family trusts like that. Soul-Bonds are permanent, and those who go through with it always end up having kids at some point, but love is definitely not required. More often than not, the pair would have kids just as a way of getting rid of each other - a form of mutually-assured destruction when they absolutely couldn’t stand the bond anymore.  

 

All Soul-Bonds are arranged and carried out by the Royal Family. They have to approve each and every one to assure that potential offspring aren't capable of overpowering - and thus overthrowing - them. At least in this case, the King doesn't need to worry about that last part. Sure, you and Papyrus would be pretty fucking strong once you were bound, but the King has no reason to worry. You're incapable of hurting him, and Papyrus has no intention of seizing the throne. 

 

At least, not to the King’s knowledge. Or to anyone’s knowledge but Sans’s. Why would he risk telling anyone else about his plan to go through the barrier, take the SOULs of six additional humans, and destroy the barrier completely so that his brother [and everyone else, consequently] could join him on the surface? Surely, if he had, the King never would have hired him as a member of the Royal Guard. 

 

His hopes had been that you could become comfortable with Papyrus without him getting attached. Sans has already made that mistake, and he’s going to pay for it. But Papyrus doesn’t have to. He’s great at compartmentalizing - if he can continue to see you as a means to an end instead of as a person, it won’t hurt as much when he takes your SOUL and uses it to break the barrier. So long as he continues to keep you at arm's length, killing you doesn't have to hurt him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ironically, Reader is the only person truly happy with how things are going. Ignorance is bliss, am I right?   
> Next Time On An Exercise Of Trust: Back to our regularly scheduled ReaderxSans fluff. Reader is a dumbass, but she can also kick ass. Jerry is there? Stay tuned!


	10. I'm Starting To Sense A Pattern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *sigh*
> 
> ...Jerry.

Now, you’re no stranger to cat-callers. Most of the time, you don’t mind them - you’re the kinda girl who likes having her good looks recognized, even if it’s by creeps on street corners. You own a mirror and two perfectly functional eyes, so you’re fully aware of how attractive you are. 

 

But Jerry? This guy didn’t know when to quit. He’d been following you since you left Snowdin with your groceries for the week, and wouldn’t let up. 

 

“Come on, baby, lemme take you out. I’ll show you a good time!” His high-pitched, nasally voice carried easily through the snowy forest and giving you a headache. 

 

You’re almost to your house, and you’ve had enough. You drop your groceries in the snow and turn on him.

 

“Listen up, cocksucker, I’m not interested in you or your shriveled microdick. If you don’t leave me the fuck alone, I’ll kick you in the nuts so hard, they’ll wind up in your throat.”

 

Jerry just smiles in a way that makes your skin crawl. “Ooh, feisty. That’s so hot. I love it when sluts like you play hard to get.” 

 

“The fuck did you just call me?” 

 

“Did I stutter?” he crosses his noodle arms.

 

“No, but you’re gonna once I’m done with you.” You bend down to retrieve the dagger hidden in your boot. You’d bought it after your first unpleasant encounter with Undyne, but hadn’t had an opportunity to use it. This, you think, is the best possible way to break it in. You take a step closer to him, getting all up in his personal space. You’re lucky he’s one of the few monsters smaller than you.

 

“That’s it, baby, lemme see you up close.” The lumpy monster reaches out with a too-long arm and circles it around your waist, pulling you closer. 

 

But you aren’t about to put up with that shit. You don’t even hesitate, grabbing his gross limb and slashing clean through it in one swift motion. The moment it’s severed, it disintegrates into dust. Jerry lets out a shocked cry of pain.

 

“ **What the fuck is your problem, you crazy bitch!?** ” he recoils, clutching what’s left of his arm with the other. 

 

“You’re my problem, fuckface. Now get lost, unless you want some more.” You take another step towards, him and he flees, falling all over himself on the slippery snow-covered ground. 

 

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. After a moment, you put the dagger back in your boot, and assess the damage. Your all-black ensemble is smeared with dust, and you’re certain your stomach is gonna bruise from being grabbed. If only you weren’t so damn soft, maybe you wouldn’t bruise so easily. You’re kinda tired of finding random purple splotches all over. 

 

“damn, dollface, you really sent ‘im packin’!” Sans is leaning against your house, looking pretty impressed. You’re certain he wasn’t there a minute ago. He must’ve been watching.

 

“Thanks for the backup,” you mutter.

 

He shrugs, “whattaya talkin’ about? ya didn’t need my help at all!”

 

“Yeah, but that was...oof…” You were high on adrenaline just moments ago, but now you’re suddenly exhausted. 

 

“sweetheart?” he takes a step toward you, his face going from amused to concerned in a split second.

 

“...I’m just gonna…” you sink to your knees in the snow, clutching your chest. It hurts, probably because your heart’s beating a mile a minute. You’re definitely gonna pass out, you can feel it.

 

You don’t notice Sans kneeling in front of you until he takes your shoulders in his hands. Once you realize he’s there, you reach out and grab hold of his open coat with one hand, gripping it as tightly as your weary fingers will allow. 

 

“are ya alright?” he asks, hunching so the two of you are eye-to-eye. 

 

There’s no one else around, so you don’t mind being honest. “Nope.” You laugh weakly, “just...gimme a minute…”

 

“take all the time ya need, sweetheart...i ain’t going nowhere.”

 

You’re not sure how much time passes. You’re a little preoccupied with trying to stay conscious, but you can feel the cold creeping under your skin. Eventually, Sans moves one of his hands to cover yours - the one still grasping his coat - to get your attention. You meet his eyelights.

 

“i’m gonna move us inside.” You nod, and his other hand slides from your shoulder to the small of your back, pulling you closer. You close your eyes, but you can feel the shift around you, and the snow beneath your legs is replaced by the carpet of your living room. The air becomes warmer, and a spicy-sweet scent envelopes you. It’s the same smell on his jacket, though much stronger. You realize it must be his magic. 

 

You can’t keep this up. You’re starting to feel distant. Eyes still squeezed shut, you lean forward, resting your forehead against Sans’s t-shirt covered sternum, and let yourself be swallowed by the darkness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uck. Jerry is...gross. I feel slimy just writing him into this fic. Well, hope you like it, anyway. 
> 
> Next Time On An Exercise Of Trust: This again, but from Sans's POV. See, I know what y'all want.


	11. Is It Thirst, Or Genuine Affection?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Same as last time, but Sans's POV.

This guy. This fuckin’ guy. He’s in for a bad time the moment he starts talking to you. Sans isn’t sure how Jerry’s managed to survive as long as he has. It’s probably because no one can stand to be around him for as long as it would take to dust him. 

 

But he’d rather do it while you’re not around. He’s not worried he’ll scare you or anything - that’s not even a possibility, with you. He just doesn’t want to be distracted. Knowing you’re watching, he might try to show off a little, and not paying full attention to your enemy is a good way to get dead.

 

Besides, Sans isn’t exactly the hero type. He’s got an image to keep up, and jumping to your defense might make Jerry - and everyone the loose-lipped bastard talks to after the fact - think that he’s gone soft. 

 

He’ll wait, and watch, and make sure the creep doesn’t lay either of his slimy hands on you. 

 

“Come on, baby, lemme take you out. I’ll show you a good time!” 

 

And later, when nobody’s around, he’ll have a  _ great  _ time making him suffer. 

 

You drop your groceries in the snow and turn on him.

 

“Listen up, cocksucker, I’m not interested in you or your shriveled microdick. If you don’t leave me the fuck alone, I’ll kick you in the nuts so hard, they’ll wind up in your throat.”

 

Sans can’t help but laugh. He’s not surprised - honestly, he expected you to say something sooner. You’re not the type to let people walk all over you.

 

Unfortunately, Jerry seems to finds your words pretty amusing, too. “Ooh, feisty. That’s so hot. I love it when sluts like you play hard to get.” 

 

The fuck did he just call you?

 

“The fuck did you just call me?” 

 

“Did I stutter?” he crosses his noodle arms.  That cocky motherfucker...

 

“No, but you’re gonna once I’m done with you.” You bend down to retrieve the dagger hidden in your boot. You take a step closer to him, getting all up in his personal space. 

 

_ Oh, fuck yeah, get ‘im babygirl. Show ‘im what yer made of.  _ Sans is dying to see how much damage you can do. He’s the one who showed you how to use that dagger, after all, and he wants to see what you’ve learned. From his vantage point near the treeline, you look dangerous and sexy as hell. 

 

“That’s it, baby, lemme see you up close.” The lumpy monster reaches out with a too-long arm and circles it around your waist, pulling you closer. 

 

Shit. He went and let himself get distracted, just like he knew he would. He’s too far away and too slow to do anything about it. He teleports closer, to the side of you house, in case this turns into something more serious than a knife fight, but he quickly realizes that there’s no real reason for him to worry. Y ou aren’t about to put up with that shit. You don’t even hesitate, grabbing Jerry’s gross limb and slashing clean through it in one swift motion. The moment it’s severed, it disintegrates into dust. Jerry lets out a shocked cry of pain.

 

“ **What the fuck is your problem, you crazy bitch!?** ” he recoils, clutching what’s left of his arm with the other. 

 

“You’re my problem, fuckface. Now get lost, unless you want some more.” You take another step towards, him and he flees, falling all over himself on the slippery snow-covered ground.

 

Yeah, he’s gonna get it later. Right now, though, Sans can’t take his eye sockets off of you. Knowing that you could absolutely wreck his shit was thrilling, in its own way, but it was the knowledge that you’d never turn that knife on him that really got him going. 

 

With your back still to him, you let out a shaky breath that clouds the air above you. He gets a great view of your ass when you put the knife back in your boot. You seem upset about the dust streaked across your clothes, but you can always wash them. Hell, Sans’d be more than happy to keep you company while you hang around in your underwear. Just the thought of it has him grinning twice as wide as usual.

 

“damn, dollface, you really sent ‘im packin’!” 

 

“Thanks for the backup,” you mutter. 

 

Oh, fuck, you’re not mad, are you? Nah, you know how things work down here. And you know him, too, so you’ve  _ gotta _ know he’s been around the whole time. 

 

He shrugs, “whattaya talkin’ about? you didn’t need my help at all!”

 

“Yeah, but that was...oof…” 

 

You look beat. Where’d all that confidence from a minute ago disappear to? Wherever it went, it took his thoughts about getting into your pants with it. 

 

“sweetheart?” he takes a step toward you. You definitely look pale. Your cheeks should be red from the cold, but you’re almost as white as he is, which can’t be a good thing. 

 

“...I’m just gonna…” you sink to your knees in the snow, clutching your chest. 

 

Looking at you, Sans can tell your SOUL is fine. It’s as bright as ever, stuck inside your ribcage where it should be, completely unharmed. So then why do you look like you’re in pain?

 

He rushes to you, kneeling in the snow in front of you. He freezes up, not sure what to do. Is there anything he can do, really? Even if there isn’t, he has to try. He places his hands on your shoulders as gently as he can. You’re so small compared to him, and you look so frail. You don’t seem to notice him at first, but then you reach out and grab hold of his open coat with one hand. That act alone is enough to make his SOUL shudder - the sheer neediness of it, and the way your knuckles go white from exertion, like he’s some kind of lifeline.  

 

He bends so the two of you are eye-to-eye. “are ya alright?” 

 

He can barely hear your response. “Nope.” You laugh weakly, “just...gimme a minute…”

 

“take all the time ya need, sweetheart...i ain’t going nowhere,” he assures you. As if he’d leave you alone while you’re like this. Fuck no. Fuck that. He’s not leaving your side until you stop scaring the shit out of him with this...whatever the fuck it is. 

 

But the two of you can’t stay out here in the open. Your jeans are soaked from the snow, and the cold air can’t be helping you, either. Not to mention that if anyone saw you like this...saw  _ him _ like this...there’d be no question that he’d gone soft. It’d turn you both into easy targets, and make things that much harder for Papyrus.

 

Sans moves to cover your tiny hand still gripping his coat with his own. It gets your attention, and you raise your sky-blue eyes to meet his. 

 

“i’m gonna move us inside.” You nod, but he can’t do it with you at a distance like this. He needs you closer, so he doesn’t lose you in the jump. He slides the hand still on your shoulder down to the small of your back, and pulls you in so you’re sitting snugly between his own legs. He’s glad you keep your eyes shut when he moves the two of you. It’s an easy thing to become dizzy from. He settles you both onto the carpet of your living room, between the tv and the sofa. 

 

You slump forward, your forehead coming to rest against his sternum, and for a single panicked moment he worries that the magic was too much for you. “sweetheart?” You don’t respond. He tries shaking you a bit, but it’s obvious that you’re out cold. Again. 

 

But he saw it happen this time. He knows you’re alive, that you’re not injured. His hand at your back can feel you breathing. He’s not sure what happened to make you pass out again. Overexertion? A panic attack? Alphys might be able to tell him now that he can give her more information, but at least he knows that you’ll wake up. 

 

He sighs. Slowly, he raises his hand and runs his claws through your hair, keeping your head pressed to his chest as he gets his other arm under your knees and lifts you. No sense in you being uncomfortable. 

 

He stands and carries you to your room. It’s almost as disastrous as his own, but at least he can see your floor. He contemplates removing your soaked clothes, but...he can’t. He’d wanted to, a few minutes ago, but with you unconscious like this, it doesn’t feel right. He just pulls the covers up over you and hopes that you won’t be out long enough for it to make a difference. 

 

No matter how long it takes you to wake up, he’ll be right there when you do. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Time On An Exercise Of Trust: I'm gonna keep this fluff going! I'm on a roll! Besides, Sans and Reader haven't spent enough time together...they haven't even been to Grillby's yet!


	12. Warm Fuzzies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter doesn't have a proper title yet because it was originally the beginning of the next chapter. But the whole thing got way too long, so I figured I'd post this now. I'll put up the rest later today. In the meantime, enjoy!

You wake up freezing cold. Your sheets have absorbed the moisture from your pants, so there’s really no hope of warming up until you dry them. That’ll have to wait until later, though, since Sans is dead asleep on top of the covers. Big surprise there. There’s no way you could move him, even if you wanted to. Which you don’t. It’s kinda sweet, and waking up to him is probably the best-case scenario, anyway. If it’d been anyone else, you wouldn’t be waking up at all. 

 

You leave him there, grabbing an oversized t-shirt and some sleep shorts from your dresser, and make your way to the bathroom. You’re not dirty or anything, and you don’t feel like washing your hair, so you run yourself a bath. 

 

While you’re waiting for the tub to fill, you undress and find that you were right about the bruising. There’s a line of purple circling your middle, tender to the touch. You miss being able to take a hit without it showing. You never used to bruise this easy.

 

The hot water feels so fucking good as you sink into it, dispelling the chill in your hands and feet instantly. You’re once again glad you cut your hair. With it short like this, it’s a lot easier to make sure it doesn’t dip into the water by accident. 

 

You’re only in there for a few minutes - fifteen, tops. You always make the water way too hot and have to bail before you boil.  

 

You open up the bathroom door and find Sans awake and watching tv, facing away from you on the couch. You stand in the open doorway for a few moments, thinking about all he’s done for you. 

 

Finding you an out-of-the-way place to stay where other monsters won’t bother you. Fixing up that tv, keeping you company, constantly bringing you things to keep you busy. Cutting your hair for you. Helping you through these weird fainting spells. It was...a lot. And he’d never once asked for anything in return.

 

Sure, you’d known other people willing to put up with you back on the surface, but they’d also been willing to take advantage of you the moment they had the opportunity. 

 

Sans hadn’t. 

 

It could be that your standards are too low. After years of settling for guys who really only wanted one thing out of you, of course you’d fall hard and fast for someone who treats you like you’re worth more. Like you  _ are _ more. 

 

You know heartfelt thank-yous aren’t a thing down here in the Underground, but he deserves to know how grateful you are, doesn’t he? You don’t want to overstep any boundaries, but...you wonder...if he’d let you…?

 

You walk up behind the sofa, allowing the uneven wooden floor to creak beneath you. “Sans…?”

 

He doesn’t turn to look at you. “‘sup, dollface? feelin’ better?” He asks, his voice perfectly casual.

 

You lean forward, stomach pressed against the back of the couch, and wrap your arms loosely around his neck, so they’re resting on his shoulders. You rest your head beside his and whisper your thanks. He’s frozen in place and doesn’t respond. You press a light kiss to his cheekbone and pull away, your fingers lingering on his shoulders. 

 

Nothing. He doesn’t even acknowledge you. You can’t see his expression, but his body is tense, which can’t be good. 

 

Your heart sinks, and you worry that you’ve upset him. That it was too much. Without a word, you walk to your bedroom to put on some real clothes and sort out the situation with your sheets. 

 

When you come back out, it’s like nothing happened. His posture is relaxed again, and he even turns to look at you, raising a brow-bone. You decide to answer his earlier question.

  
“I’m a-okay, bones. Probably just allergic to Jerry.”

 

He chuckles. “ain’t we all?”

 

You tug on your shoes and walk outside to retrieve your groceries, which are still sitting in the snow. You’re disappointed, but not surprised, to find that they’re frozen solid.    

 

“Damn. Guess I’ll have to wait a while for dinner.” 

 

“i could take ya to grillby’s.” 

 

_ The _ Grillby’s? The one Sans is literally always talking about? What a treat! You remember what Papyrus said about it, but at the moment, you’ll eat just about anything. Besides, Sans will be there. 

 

“Ooh, sounds like a date!” You joke. 

 

He laughs quietly, “yeah. sure. it’s a date.” Is he being sarcastic? He’s probably being sarcastic.

 

You shrug. “So long as you’re paying!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Time On An Exercise Of Trust: this pair of pining idiots get sloppy drunk. Who would've guessed that they're both lightweights?


	13. A Date With The *Correct* Skeleton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's the rest.

Grillby’s is a bit different from what you pictured. You were expecting a super-shady establishment, like those villain bars you see in cartoons - falling apart, covered in grime, with smoke filling the air. Instead, it’s...nice. It’s very clean, and pretty damn classy, too. Most of the decor is black and silver, with splashes of blue here and there to match the owner of the place: a cobalt blue fire elemental. Sure, the patrons are a bit cold when you first walk in, shooting you the same glares you get on the street. Once Sans follows you in, though, they avert their eyes.

 

The two of you sit down at the bar, taking the last two open seats. All Sans has to do is hold up two fingers to Grillby, and he pours each of you a glass of what looks like whiskey. Not your favorite, but you won’t complain. He slides Sans’s drink over unceremoniously, but places yours before you with care, making steady eye contact with his piercing purple eyes.

 

“This one is...on the house.” His voice sounds more like the crackle of a campfire than actual words, but you can understand him just fine somehow.

 

“Oh? Is it ladies’ night or something?” You ask, taking a sip. Yep, definitely whiskey. Cinnamon whiskey. You’re tempted to ask for ice, but you’re not sure the fire elemental would oblige.

 

“No such thing here, my dear. But any friend of Sans’s is a friend of mine.” The blue flames of his face are interrupted by a jagged grin of orange fire. You think he might be going for intimidation, but to you, he just looks like a neon jack-o-lantern. “Of course, if you wanted to be more than friends, I wouldn’t complain.” He takes your free hand in his. It’s too warm, and not all that solid, and every instinct in you is telling you to pull away.

 

But you’ve never been all that great at listening. So instead, you laugh in his face. “Sorry, babe, but you’re not my type. Too smooth.” You emphasize your point by sliding your hand from his in one smooth motion. “I prefer my men a little rough around the edges, y’know?” His smile vanishes, and he glances at Sans before turning to attend to other customers.

 

Sans laughs, clearly delighted by the interaction. “damn, i don’t think i’ve ever seen him strike out like that.”

 

“What can I say? Fire isn’t really my element.”

 

“and here i thought ya were a real _fire_ cracker.”

 

“No way! I’m obviously a _stone_ \- _cold_ badass.”

 

“really? guess that explains why yer so _dense_.”

 

You smack his arm and take another swig. You know you’re drinking a bit fast, but you wanna keep up with Sans. Besides, it’s a bar for fuck’s sake. You’re not looking to stay sober.

 

You remember suddenly that you’re starving. The next time Grillby passes by, you flag him down.  

 

“You serve hot wings here?”

 

“Yes, they are one of my specialties.”

 

“Sweet, I’ll have a dozen of ‘em.”

 

Grillby leans forward over the counter and asks, “How hot would you like them?” His tone is blatantly suggestive.

 

You decide to play along, and lean forward until your face is only an inch from his. You can feel the heat coming off of him. “As hot as they come, babe,” you say with a wink. Grillby nods slyly and disappears into the kitchen.

 

“‘babe’? how come he gets ‘babe’ and i get stuck with ‘bones’?” Sans grumbles, draining what’s left of his own drink.

 

“Hmm...you’re right. ‘Babe’ is too general. I’ll call him ‘hot stuff’ instead.” He just frowns. You know perfectly well that’s not what his objection was, but you can’t not give him a hard time.  

 

Grillby comes back out with the hot wings, which are literally on fire. You’re not sure what you expected. You and Sans both burst into hysterical laughter.

 

“yer not seriously gonna try to eat those?” Sans asks as you try to figure out how to grab one without catching fire yourself.

 

“Hell yeah, I am. I’m hungry.”

 

“yer crazy’s whatcha are.”

 

“You say that like you didn’t already know it.” You finally pick one up, finding that the fire is just for show, and doesn’t burn you any more than Grillby himself would. You hold it up triumphantly and take a messy bite.

 

Sans doesn’t seem to mind your terrible manners. He reaches over and steals a leg from your plate, despite you trying to swat him away. He doesn’t bother eating around the bone - he just drops the whole thing into his jagged jaws and swallows it whole. It’s disgusting, but also kind of impressive.

 

This is so, so different from your night out with Papyrus. There’s no pressure to be something you aren’t. Sure, you had fun pretending to be fancy for an evening, but that’s all it was - pretending. You’re way more comfortable getting wasted and eating junk food at a dive bar than drinking wine and eating fancy steak at a five-star restaurant.

 

Of course, there’s also the fact that Sans is just more fun to be around. He’s good company, with a killer sense of humor. Literally. You almost choke a few times as he refuses to stop telling terrible jokes while you’re stuffing your face.

 

\--

 

You’re still laughing several drinks later, well after you’ve cleared your plate. People are staring, but neither of you really care. You’ve switched to telling each other horrendous pickup lines, and are having way too much fun.  

 

There comes a point when you can’t put off a trip to the bathroom any longer. By the time you drunkenly stumble your way back, your seat has been stolen and Sans has done jack shit to prevent it. Not because he didn’t notice. If that dopey grin on his face is anything to go by, he knows exactly what’s going on. He’s just too lazy to do anything about it.

 

“sorry, doll, no savin’ seats. s’against the rules.” Oh, yeah, sure. What a load.

 

“Well, _fuck_ ,” you say, before getting an idea. It’s a half-baked idea, for sure, but it’s the best one your alcohol-drowned brain is able to come up with. “Guess I’ll have to take this one, then.” You hop up onto his lap like it’s no big deal, and steal a sip from his glass.

 

You half expect him to freeze up, but he doesn’t. He laughs, “hey, when i suggested this a while back, ya called me a perv. is a few drinks really all it takes to change yer mind?”

 

You’re a little distracted by how his deep voice makes your ribcage vibrate. “Most’a the time, yeah. Get me drunk enough, and I stop caring about most things. You still gotta keep your hands to yourself, though.”

 

“i make no promises.” He leans forward so his jacket-covered ribcage is flush with your back. His arms circle around yours and he takes his drink back. When he speaks next, his voice is right next to your ear, just loud enough for you to hear. “hope yer comfy, sweetheart, ‘cause now that i got ya, i ain’t lettin’ ya go.” His words are threatening, but they’re spoken with underlying warmth.    

 

You’re perfectly content to spend the rest of your evening right there - and you’re pretty sure you do. There’s no real way of knowing, since you can’t really remember the rest of the night. There’s one thing you’re sure of, though.

 

It was definitely a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, liquid courage. Works wonders, no?
> 
> Next Time On An Exercise Of Trust: The morning after. No, I will not elaborate.
> 
> If y'all catch any typos, let me know. It's late and im exhausted, so I probably missed a few.


	14. Two Steps Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here ya go!

You wake up totally disoriented, and not for the usual reasons. You’re used to getting blackout drunk - it was one of your favorite ways of dealing with stress on the surface. But it normally comes with a migraine, nausea, and some rando passed out in your bed.

 

But you feel totally fine. Your head is clear, you don’t feel like throwing up, and so far as you can tell, you ended up passed out in Sans’s bed. He’s asleep on his back, and you’re flush against his side, your right arm draped over his torso. You can feel his hand resting on your hip.

 

Did the two of you…? No, probably not. You’re pantsless and braless, but that’s just how you sleep. The fact that you’re still wearing your underwear and your shirt means the two of you probably didn’t get very far.

 

You sit up - real slow, so as not to wake him. You get a good look at his face, and have to stifle a laugh. At the very least, the two of you had one hell of a makeout session, because his face is covered in your lipstick. There are a few distinct kiss-marks on his skull, but most of it is smeared. You kinda can’t believe he let you do that to him. Hopefully, no one else saw? That’d probably be bad.

 

You pick your phone up off the floor and check the time. It’s just a bit past when Papyrus would be picking you up to head over to the lab...shit. He’s probably at your house, but you’re here. You sigh, knowing you’re in for a lecture when he tracks you down. 

 

You go to get up and get dressed, but Sans’s clawed hand wraps around your wrist.

 

“where ya goin’ sweetheart? got somewhere to be?”

 

“The lab.”

 

He frowns, and sits up. “don’t bother with that place today.” He snakes an arm around you and presses his face into the back of your neck. You can’t help but freeze up. Not that you don’t like it - you love it, really. Your whole body’s tingling, and you feel so warm...but it’s so unlike him, and so out of nowhere. Does he know something you don’t? 

 

“Any chance you remember what happened last night?”

 

“nope. my bet’s on sleeping.”

 

“So you don’t think we…?”

 

“nah. if we did, i wouldn’t still be dressed.”

 

He’s got a point. It looks like he fell asleep in his clothes from last night - jacket and all. It was probably for the best. If you did have sex with him, you’d definitely want to remember it. You can’t help it - you’re curious as to how it would even be possible.

 

“‘course, if ya wanna, we could-”

 

There’s an aggressive knock on his bedroom door. “Sans? Have You Seen The Human? She Is Not In Her House.”

 

“fer fuck’s sake…” he mutters. “yeah, i seen ‘er. what about it?”

 

“I Need To Know Where She Is. We Are Going To Be Late For Our Appointment With-” The door swings open, and Papyrus stops mid-sentence. 

 

You turn away and cover your mouth to keep from laughing. You should probably be embarrassed, but this whole situation is nothing but hilarious to you. 

 

“...Ah.” You can see just the slightest hint of a smile on the taller skeleton’s face. 

 

“what?” Sans asks, bristling. He’s correctly assumed that the two of you are laughing at him, completely unaware of the state his face is in.

 

“Nothing, Brother. I Suggest You Check A Mirror At Your Earliest Convenience. Human,” he addresses you, “I’ll Give You Fifteen Minutes To...Clean Up.”

 

“I’ll only need ten.”

 

Papyrus nods, and closes the door, and you double-over in a fit of giggles.

 

“the fuck’s he talkin’ about?” 

 

You wiggle out of his grasp and collect your clothes from his bedroom floor. “Go wash your face, dumbass.” 

 

He grumbles, but leaves the room to do so anyway. On his way out, you notice more lipstick smeared on the vertebrae of his neck, too. Damn. You really went all-out. Moments later you hear him yell from down the hall.

 

“hey, what the fuck!?” 

 

Laughing your ass off puts you behind schedule, but you still make it to the front door before Papyrus starts yelling. A fresh-faced Sans calls to you from the top of the stairs as you head out the door. 

 

“we’ll pick up where we left off when ya get back, yeah?” 

 

“Hmm...I dunno, bones. I’ll have to think about it.” You wink, and you’re pretty sure you catch Papyrus rolling his eye-lights as you leave.  

 

\--

 

You’re pleasantly surprised to find that Papyrus isn’t at all mad about your  _ tryst _ with his brother - if it can even be considered that. 

 

He explains that his interest in you is purely professional, and that while he did have a decent time on your date, he has not developed any romantic feelings for you. So long as that remains the case, and so long as Sans does not try any funny business with your SOUL, there is no problem. You’re not sure what he means about that SOUL bit, but you let it go. 

 

He firmly believes that that you could do better, though. 

 

What surprises you even more than his lack of jealous outrage is the order he makes once the two of you are at Alphys’s lab.

 

“The Human Will Remain Outside The Observation Room For This Test.” 

 

Alphys is as shocked as you are. “W-why? You r-realize you’ll have to r-rely on your own m-magic, instead of the m-machine?”

 

“I Am Well Aware. I Believe It Would Help If I See Her During The Test.”

 

“I d-don’t really see how that c-could help…” Papyrus doesn’t bother repeating himself. He just fixes her with a harsh glare, and she shrivels under it. “B-but anything’s worth a shot!” 

 

So instead of relying on the machine to extract your SOUL, Papyrus does it the old fashioned way - with magic. You stand across from each other in the lab, and he pulls your red-orange SOUL from your chest. The two of you hold eye contact as he does so, giving you a look that seems almost...encouraging? You think that’s what he’s going for. You do your best to remember the deal you made with him. Just thinking about your plan for revenge fills you with determination. 

 

Maybe that’s why this time, unlike all the previous times, your SOUL isn’t trying desperately to escape. It’s still a bit shaky, and it jolts every minute or so, but it’s not panicked. For the first time, Papyrus is able to hold it in his hands without trapping it. 

 

You can feel triumph rolling off of him in waves. It might be due to his proximity to your SOUL, or it could just be that his excitement is that contagious. He’s thrilled, and it shows in his eyes, if not the rest of his face. 

 

Finally, you’re making some progress. With you finally cooperating with Papyrus, you can move on to the next phase - figuring out how much DT he can take, and if that will be enough to get through the barrier. You can almost feel the magic at your fingertips...it won’t be much longer until you can wield it for yourself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bet you thought they were gonna fuck, huh? Well too bad! No drunk sex here, no sirree-bob. Reader can't consent to shit while she's wasted. Even the fell boys drink their Respect Women juice. 'Course, if she wants to literally cover Sans with smooches, he's not gonna say no.  
> Also, fell Papyrus likes seeing his brother happy just as much as OG Papyrus does. It's such a rarity.
> 
> Next Time On An Exercise Of Trust: Reader had a hobby before she fell. Do any of you remember what it is? ;)


	15. Befriending the Shark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hey, look, it's Undyne. She finally showed up. Even I was starting to wonder where she was.

You walk back through Waterfall on your own. Papyrus had to go inform the King of your progress, so the two of you split up back at the lab. You’re relieved to finally have some time to yourself. Usually, you’d wake up an hour before Papyrus came to get you, which gave you some much needed you-time. You could eat something, read a book, and relax for a bit before having to deal with people. Waking up in Sans’s bed and having to rush to get ready hadn’t been the ideal start to your day. 

 

Still, you were kind of anxious to get back to Snowdin. For...reasons. Sans-related reasons. To put it simply, you definitely planned on finishing what you’d started with him. Hell, you’d been dying to jump his bones practically since you’d met him. 

 

But you had to keep your cool. No sense in getting all worked up...not yet, anyway. It was a long walk back to the skeleton household. 

 

Desperate to distract yourself, you start humming a favorite song of yours. It’s not long before you’re full-on singing. Damn, the acoustics in Waterfall are fantastic! You’re way out of practice, so you hit a few more sour notes than you’d like, but you still love the way your voice bounces off the cave walls, accompanied by the sound of quiet water. It’s the perfect background noise for some of Florence Welch’s more ominous lyrics.

 

_ “There is love in your body, but you can’t hold it in...It pours from your eyes and it spills from your skin...the tenderest touch leaves the darkest of marks...and the kindest of kisses break the hardest of hearts…”  _

 

The first verse hangs in the air around you like mist, and you have to stop to appreciate it. Your reverie is interrupted, though, by an unwelcome voice as rough as sandpaper and twice as grating.

 

“Hey, shrimp.” 

 

Undyne.

 

“Hey, fishlips,” you spit back.

 

She laughs darkly, “not  **scared** , are ya?” You don’t dignify that with an answer. Mostly because it would either be ‘yes’ or a bold-faced lie, and you ain’t a liar. “Don’t worry, Alphys read me the riot act.” she puts her webbed hands up as if in surrender. “Hands off.  **Promise** .” 

 

You know it’s not a promise she made to you, but it does make you feel a bit better. Still, you’re not keen on sticking around for a conversation with her. To your disappointment, when you start walking again, she follows a few feet behind you.  

 

“I like what ya did with your hair. It suits ya.” 

 

You glance at her over your shoulder, and she shoots you a snaggletooth smile. Is she...trying to be nice to you? You don’t smile back. 

 

She keeps going. “Looks like ya lost weight. Good for you, I guess.”

 

“ _ Excuse _ me?”

 

“I don’t mean no offense, it’s just that the last time I roughed ya up, I couldn’t count all your ribs. Let’s see...two, four, six-” 

 

You round on her and fold your arms over your torso just so she’ll stop. You aren’t that thin...are you? You haven’t really been paying attention to your weight. 

 

“Aw, don’t be shy. I’m sure Paps is  **thrilled** .” Papyrus? Why the fuck would he care? Did she think you two were romantically involved…? She puts both hands behind her head, a casual gesture that also happens to show of her many, many muscles. You mentally kick yourself for noticing them. “But, uh, you might wanna remind him to feed you every now and again.”

 

Oh, so she thought it was like  _ that _ . “I’m not his pet.” You start walking again, a bit faster.  

 

“That’s not what I was implying.” She has no trouble keeping up with you. Curse her and her long legs. Fish aren’t even supposed to  _ have _ legs! “Royal Guards get access to stuff normal folk don’t. Like better weapons, better housing...and better food. Y’know, the good stuff. Human food.”

 

You’re not sure you want any, since you know they probably pick it out of the dump just like everything else from the surface.

 

“I’ll stick with what I’ve got.”

“You say that, but…” she hesitates, like she’s not sure she should be talking about this with you. “Monster food’ll keep ya healthy, keep ya going, but it doesn’t have everything you need. Alphys said something about...I dunno...nutreats? Vitamites? I was only half-listening.” She pauses, and backpedals, “don’t uh...don’t tell her that, though.”

The food you’ve been eating since falling down here doesn’t have  _ nutrients _ ? You guess that makes sense, since it’s made entirely out of magic, but  _ fuck _ , that sure explains a lot. No wonder you’re passing out every few days. 

 

You’re livid. You’ve had a feeling that Alphys had been keeping shit from you, but you didn’t expect it to be vital info like this. “When did she mention that?” 

 

“Uh...a few weeks ago, I guess. Why?”

 

“Just would’ve been nice to know, since I’m wasting away and all,” you mutter bitterly. 

 

“What?”

 

“Forget it. Papyrus has real food?”

 

“Yeah, mostly pasta. Nothing  **but** pasta, really.”

 

You’ll take it. You’d already been used to the feeling of an empty stomach before you fell, so you hadn’t been too bothered by how monster food worked. Still, eating something that actually fills you up instead of dissolving in your throat sounds pretty fucking good right now. 

 

She stops following you when you hit the next bridge, waving goodbye and shouting, “see ya ‘round, shrimp!” 

 

“I sure fucking hope not,” you reply, the sound carrying in the open space. Apparently, Undyne finds your retort funny. Her cackle follows you all the way to the opposite shore. 

 

\--

 

You’re nearing the entrance to Snowdin, and you’ve gone back to singing. You’ve gotta do something to drown out the sound of the echo flowers that inhabit the wishing room. None of them ever have anything nice to say. Just threats, the sound of violence, and - once - the last few moments of some poor monster’s life. 

 

You don’t stop to listen to the flowers anymore. You hope your voice takes the place of whatever awful things were said to them last. 

 

There’s a flash of red magic, and the air around you changes. Instinctively, you prepare for a FIGHT...but you don’t get one. It’s just Sans. Damn, are you happy to see him. Well, maybe ‘happy’ isn’t the right word...Wait, shit, you’ve gotta play it cool. You’re a badass, not some lovestruck dipshit. 

 

“Trying to scare me, bones?” 

 

“nah.” His face is obscured by shadows, but you can see his bright red eye-lights drifting up and down in their sockets as he sizes you up. It’s intimidating, but also really hot. 

 

Cool as a cucumber, that’s what you are...trying to be. It’s not working. Your voice comes out a little strained. “Then what’s the big idea?”

 

Something about his grin seems...off. In a good way. In a very sharp, very sexy way. He saunters over and gets all up in your personal space. You try to retreat, but wind up with your back flush against the cave wall. He braces a hand against it, right by your head, and leans in. “i’ve been thinkin’ about ya all day.” His tone sends a shiver down your spine, and you forget to respond. He moves his free hand to your face, taking your chin in his bony palm and resting his clawed thumb on your lower lip. “lemme show ya a good time, sweetheart.”

 

He’s got a killer poker face, you’ll give him that. But the fact that he couldn’t wait for you to get back to Snowdin is telling. You know by now that he’s a patient guy, so he must be pretty desperate to show up and corner you here. Still...how can you say no to an invitation like that?

 

You grab a hold of his jacket with both hands. “Sure,  _ babe _ . Your place, or mine?” 

 

The two of you are gone in an instant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Time On An Exercise Of Trust: Here's your chance to convince me to write smut. If I don't feel convinced, I'll just skip it and do fluff instead. That's where my strength is, anyway. [I definitely haven't already started writing the smut, and am just too chicken to post it. That's not at all what's going on here. How dare you accuse me of such a thing. Get out of my house.]


	16. The Only Things Fueling You Are Spite And Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You guys are great, y'know that? You were super understanding of me not being up for writing smut. Which, evidently, I'm not. I'm just too ace for that shit, I guess. The most I can do is hint at what went down...[it was Sans. Sans went down]  
> Fluff, though...I can write fluff all day. <3

Sans wakes up a few hours after. At least, he assumes it’s been a few hours. It’s pretty much always pitch-black outside, so there’s no real way of knowing without checking his phone, which is all the way over on the nightstand. He could reach it pretty easily, actually, but he’s using that arm to hold you snug to his side.

And he really does mean snug. Both of your legs are wrapped around one of his, your head is resting on his humerus [which can’t be comfortable], and the hand not trapped under you is lightly gripping his collarbone. He’s glad he had the forethought to put his t-shirt and shorts back on. At least that way, he’s not quite as likely to jab you.

The way you’re holding onto him makes it so much harder when he has to move. It won’t take long to check, and he has to. For his own peace of mind, he _has_ to.

He sits up slowly, supporting your weight as he brings you up with him. Your eyes flutter open for a moment, and you murmur something, but you don’t wake up. When he’s sure you’re still fully asleep, he pulls your SOUL from your chest and gives it a once-over.

He breathes a sigh of relief. He really thought he’d messed it up and done the one thing Papyrus had told him not to do. Thankfully, there’s not a single trace of his deep-red magic on your SOUL.

Of course, now that there’s a light source, he can’t keep his eye-lights from wandering. You’re just...so pretty, and so soft, and so vulnerable and…

Fuck.

He can already see bruises taking shape on your hips - purple silhouettes of his own hands - and he lets out a frustrated sigh. He tried so hard to hold back, but you’re just...so fragile. When you’d demanded more, he couldn’t bring himself to say no...hell, it had to be the single sexiest thing he’d ever heard. Sexy enough to keep him from considering the consequences.

But now, looking at the damage...he knows it’s nothing severe, and that you won’t be mad, but...he’s still a bit sick over it.

He lets your SOUL glide back into you. Without letting you go, he leans over and picks his jacket up off the floor beside your bed. He drapes it over your shoulders and gently tugs your arms through the sleeves. He zippers it all the way up...then he drags the zipper back down about halfway. He doesn’t want to see the bruises, but he definitely wants the see the rest of you.

He settles the two of you back down onto the mattress, lying on his side and pulling you against his chest.

\--

Well, that happened.

For the second day in a row, you wake up pressed into Sans’s side. This time, you’d be completely naked if it wasn’t for Sans’s jacket, which you’re wearing for some unknown reason. You’re pretty sure the last time you saw it, it had been on the floor...maybe you threw it on to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night? You push away from Sans just enough so you can get at the zipper, and pull it all the way up so you feel a bit less exposed.

You’re not sure what to do, because Sans is...still here. It’s not a bad thing, not at all. It’s exactly what you’d wanted. You’re just...not used to it.

You’d always been more of a one night stand kinda girl. Meet a guy, bring him home, fuck him, kick him out, rinse, repeat.

You have no idea how to handle your current situation. You definitely aren’t gonna kick him out, though. After last night, you’re pretty sure you at least owe him breakfast. Or, like, a blowjob, or something.

Never in your life have you felt so thoroughly satisfied. When he’d offered to show you a good time, you thought he’d at least get something out of it. Apparently, he was totally content to just watch you come over, and over, and over again. Somehow, you think you’d be less scandalized by the whole thing if he’d gotten off on it, but you aren’t sure he had. You’d stopped being able to focus on him pretty quick. God, you’d probably been a complete wreck by the end of it. Even thinking about it now has you flustered - your face is probably as red as his huge magic d-

Nope. Done thinking about it. You roll over, turning your back to him and trying to think of literally anything else. He grumbles in his sleep, and rolls over with you, pressing a clawed hand to your stomach and gently pulling you flush against him. He curls up a bit once he has you close. You crane your neck to look at his face, expecting him to be awake, but no. He’s still dead asleep, but there’s the slightest hint of a smile on his face.

Beneath that sharp exterior, he really is just a big mush, huh?

You don’t have the nerve to get up. You really want to shower, to clean up a bit, or at least brush your teeth...but it’ll have to wait. It’s not like he’ll hold it against you, anyway. You might look like a total disaster, but at least you’re a sexy disaster.

Y’know, instead of a gross little human with her face smeared with dirt and blood, wearing a dead kid’s clothes, and covered in burns - which was, incidentally, the way you looked the first time you’d met Sans. What a first impression. No matter how you looked, it was still better than that.

You drift in and out of sleep for a while longer before you’re woken by Sans running his fingers through your hair. He starts at the base of your neck and pushes his claws up and over until he’s right at the edge of your forehead. You smile and lean into his touch, tilted your head back until you’re looking up at his face.

“if i swear to never let anyone pull your hair ever again, would ya grow it out for me?”

“Hmm...nope.” For him? You don’t think so. You like Sans - a lot - but you don’t make personal decisions for other people. However… “I do plan on growing it out once I’m back on the surface, though.”

He looks disappointed...almost hurt, actually. He closes his eye sockets somehow and presses his sharp-toothed smile to the top of your head in a pseudo-kiss.

Your hunger hits you all at once, and you reach for your phone to find that it’s past 10am. You’re usually up and eating before seven so you can be ready for Papyrus to pick you up, but...well. He’d decided to give you the day off after yesterday’s success. What a lucky break that was, considering…

Wait. Undyne had let slip some pretty vital info yesterday, hadn’t she? You can’t believe you’d gone and forgotten about it...well, maybe you could. You should definitely bring it up.

You turn over to face him, and he leans his face down, obviously expecting you to kiss him. You hate to disappoint, but...this is important.

“I think I figured out why I’ve been fainting.” He blinks at you, then raises a brow-bone in question. You continue, “I ran into Undyne in Waterfall, and she told me that Alphys told her that magic food isn’t enough for a human body.”

He looks thoroughly confused. “ya mean...yer starvin’? but ya eat all the time.”

“I need real food. Human food, from the surface. Without it, I’m not getting the things I need to...well, to stay alive. I’m not dying of starvation, more like...malnutrition.”

His eye sockets go dark, and his voice is real quiet when he asks, “...yer dyin’?”

You backpedal, “n-not right away! It’s a slow process.” Fuck, you shouldn’t have said it like that…even if it’s the truth of the matter, you don’t want to freak him out. It’s fixable! At least, you hope it is.

“what can i do?”

“Huh?”

“what. can. i do?” he repeats. He’s using his huge hands to cup your face.

“Well, she also said that Papyrus gets human food as a bonus for being part of the Royal Guard.”

“ya mean all that pasta? that’s what ya need?” he looks skeptical.

“Yeah.” You’ll bring up that you technically need more than just pasta to survive later.

“...alright then. get dressed. i’ll take ya back to my place, and ya can eat as much of it as ya want.” He’s already up, pushing you to get out of bed. It’s a bit jarring, and you really do hate being rushed, but...just knowing that he’s invested in your wellbeing makes you feel all warm. It's just another thing you're not used to. He really is just a big softie, and you really love that about him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Time On An Exercise Of Trust: Lasagna is not a balanced breakfast. Papyrus is severely displeased with Alphys, and isn't shy about letting her know it. Reader learns a disturbing truth? Stay tuned!


	17. Pasta La Vista

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> God I'm tired. Take this, I promise I'll post the next part as soon as I wake up tomorrow...at least you guys get some fluff before things get kinda shitty. It's poorly written, barely edited, and incredibly rushed...but hey, they can't all be winners.

You and Sans head over to the skeleton household - on foot this time. Apparently Sans is a bit low on magic, which is surprising, but understandable. 

 

Papyrus is there, kicking back and watching MTT-TV. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him that relaxed, and you definitely haven’t seen him out of his Royal Guard uniform. He looks like he’s wearing...pajamas? Funny how his sleepwear covers more of him than his work clothes - he’s no longer baring his spine. 

 

Seconds after you walk in, he’s already turning up his nonexistent nose at you.

 

“Sans! What Did You Do? Why Does  _ My _ Human Reek Of  _ Your _ Magic?” 

 

“Excuse me, I ‘reek’? If anyone here stinks, it’s you! Your Bone Cologne is an assault on the senses,” you spit back. You shoot Sans an ‘I told you’ look, since he was the one who convinced you not to bother with a shower. He just shrugs.

 

Papyrus stands, having exactly none of your sass. He jabs his bony finger in the direction of the upstairs bathroom. “I Command You To Go Clean Yourself Up.”

 

“Gladly!” You usually hate taking orders from him, but you’re definitely on the same page with this one. You make your way up the stairs.

 

“And I Highly Recommend You Use Some Of My Cologne! If You Are To Smell Like Anyone, It Should Be Me!” 

 

Once he hears the water turn on, Papyrus turns to his brother, who hasn’t said a word yet. He seems tense as he says, “look, boss, we need to talk about the human…”

 

He narrows his eye sockets. “You Better Not Be About To Say What I Think You’re About To Say.”

 

“no, it’s somethin’ else. i was real careful with her, i swear.” He goes on to explain - to the best of his ability - what you explained to him. He still doesn’t quite get it, and he can tell his brother’s in the same boat. He’s more than happy to share his ‘culinary creations’, though, and gets started on cooking something right away.  

 

\--

 

You’ve gotten used to finding new bruises on yourself whenever you undress. You figure it comes with the violent nature of the Underground...you’re gonna get hurt one way or another, and you’ll take temporary purple blotches over scars. Still, you really hope that your tendency to bruise like a peach is the result of malnutrition, because if this keeps up once you get back to the surface, people are gonna start asking questions. 

 

You’re pretty sure your current set could be used as evidence against Sans in a court of law. There are literal handprints on your hips. They hurt, but it’s also...kinda hot? You decide to keep that thought to yourself.

 

You do end up using Papyrus’s Bone Cologne, but not on purpose or anything. It just happens to be the only thing resembling soap in the whole bathroom. It smells terrible. You hate it. 

 

Sans hates it, too, apparently. You sit down next to him on the couch. He pulls you in for a one-armed hug, gets a whiff of you, and sighs. “Paps is in the kitchen,” he says, his tone one of defeat. He slumps over and starts flipping through the channels.    

 

You make your way to the kitchen, where Papyrus is pretty much done with your meal. He looks even sillier now than he did before, as he’s put on an apron over his pajamas and is wearing oven mitts. He’s made lasagna - enough to serve a family of eight - and it looks and smells amazing. 

 

Not only that, it  _ tastes _ amazing. You’re impressed, and when you tell Papyrus so, he gets all flustered for a second. He informs you that, aside from his combat skill, it’s the thing about himself that he’s most proud of. Apparently, Sans only ever eats junk food or goes out to Grillby’s, so he’s never actually tasted it. That doesn’t surprise you. 

 

You make sure to tell him that you’ll need more than pasta. Like...fruits. Veggies. Meat. You try to explain the food pyramid to him, but honestly, you barely remember it yourself. It’s a difficult concept for monsters to understand, but Papyrus seems more than happy to acquire whatever ‘human ingredients’ you need to fuel your weird, overcomplicated body. 

 

You have three full servings of lasagna. It feels damn good to have something in your stomach again! Full of pasta, you wander back over to the couch and fall right the fuck asleep, head on the sofa’s only throw pillow and feet resting in Sans’s lap. 

 

Papyrus wants to address the issue with Alphys immediately, but...he supposes it can wait until tomorrow, since the two of you have an appointment with her anyway. 

 

Once he’s done cleaning up your breakfast, he joins you and Sans on the couch. He seems...tense. Not that you pick up on it, since you’re deep in a food coma. Sans can tell, though, and isn’t surprised when Papyrus speaks up.  

 

“Brother?”

 

“‘sup, boss?”

 

“We Need To Discuss The Plan.”

 

Sans sits himself up properly. He wants to gather your sleeping form and move you into his lap, but you look so peaceful, so he settles for resting a hand on your leg. He nods at his brother to continue.

 

“As You Know, The Plan I Devised Is Foolproof. There Is No Doubt In My Mind That It Will Work Perfectly. However, I Feel It Needs To Be Ever-So-Slightly...Amended.” 

 

“uhh, okay?”

 

He shifts in his seat, “Sans. Allow Me To Tell You About Some Complex Feelings. Feelings Like...Finally Finding Someone Who Appreciates My Cooking. The Admiration For Another’s Vengeful Ambitions. The Desire To Have Someone Around Who Isn’t My Brother And Doesn’t Want To Kill Me. These Feelings...I’m Sure You Feel Them For The Human, Too, Don’t You?”

“maybe not the one about the cookin’. but, uh, yeah, i get what yer sayin’. she’s...pretty great.” Oh, he’s well beyond thinking you’re ‘pretty great’. He’s balls-deep in this...figuratively speaking, of course.

“Before Now, I Couldn’t Possibly Have Imagined Feeling This Way For A Human. After All, I Am Very Great, And Humans Are Usually Pretty Pathetic. But I Do Wonder...With Such A Rare Human...It...It Would Be A Waste...To Kill Her...Don’t You Think?”

 

“there’s an easy fix, boss.” Sans’s been thinking it over quite a lot recently. Papyrus, who’d been staring down at you for the entire conversation, finally looks over at his brother. “there are plenty of other humans whose SOULs you can take. once you get up there, just take seven instead of six. one extra. problem solved.”

 

The taller skeleton sits up just a little bit straighter, his jaw set. “Yes. Yes, That Is A Very Elegant Solution. I’m Surprised You Came Up With It, Brother.” He stands abruptly, striking a triumphant pose. “Yes! This Is Perfect! I’m So Glad You Feel The Same Way. You May Be A Layabout And A Slob, But It’s Comforting To Know That I Can At Least Count On You For Moral Support.” 

 

“anytime, bro.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Time On An Exercise Of Trust: Alphys gets a stern talking to and Reader makes a very unpleasant discovery.


	18. Top 10 Anime Betrayals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter almost feels like filler to me. Oh well. It had to be written.

You lounge around on the ground floor of Alphys’s lab. Papyrus insisted you stay here while he talks to Alphys. You’re more than a little disappointed - you were really looking forward to hearing him tear that creep a new one. 

 

You don’t argue, though, since you kinda feel like you owe him for being so accommodating. He’d prepared several more servings of different kinds of pasta for you yesterday, and had only wanted you to come with him on this excursion so he could take you to pick out human food you’d like to eat afterward. He insisted that there didn’t need to be any experimentation today. 

 

You swivel back and forth in Alphys’s desk chair, sitting a bit too close to her computer monitor. You’d managed to find solitaire, and were on your third game. You’d wanted to do some snooping, but almost every file was locked with a password, so that was a no-go. 

 

You’re bored out of your mind.   

 

You lose the round, and decide to take a walk and stretch your legs a bit. There’s not much to look at on the ground floor - just some strange cuboid furniture and lots of anime. All the interesting stuff goes on in the basement. Come to think of it, you’ve really only seen one room in the basement - the one where you’re held during tests. 

 

You can’t help yourself. You take the elevator down to the basement, curious to see what other fucked up shit the good doctor has going on. 

 

When you exit the elevator, you head to the right instead of the left. Through the door, there’s huge room filled with beds, all neatly made and seemingly unused except for the one closest to you. The sheets are pulled down, and there’s an extra pillow. Maybe Alphys sleeps here when she needs to be close to her equipment? 

 

You keep heading right, and find yourself in a room filled with flowers and mirrors. You avoid looking in the mirrors...not because you’re scared, or anything. You’re not a chicken. 

 

It smells more like a garden than a laboratory in here, and you’re not sure what to make of it. Why would Alphys need all these flowers? Are they good for something other than bitter tea?

 

You wander around for a while longer. You find a ventilation room, a bathroom, a room with a tv, a room filled with refrigerators, and a very disturbing machine. It...it almost looks like the skull of an animal. Just looking at it sends a shiver down your spine. 

 

Suddenly, your phone vibrates in your pocket. Figuring it’s Sans, you pull it out and answer...only to be greeted by static and distant, overlapping voices. You practically throw it to the ground, and dash back to the room with the beds. It has to be some interference from the machinery, right? This place can’t be haunted...right? 

 

With your heart beating a mile a minute, you head back to the room with the elevator. You intend to go back upstairs, where at least there’s plenty of light, but you stop and grab some chisps from the vending machine first. Call it comfort food. 

 

As you snack on them, you hear Papyrus’s voice from down the hall. Despite his clearly angry tone, hearing him is soothing. 

 

You wander over to the test room and lean against the wall outside the door. You know what he said, but you’re sure he won’t be that mad that you came down to find him. You can always pretend you weren’t listening in.

 

“If I Find That You Have Been Keeping Anything Else From Me, I Will Not Hesitate To Report Your Insubordination To His Majesty King Asgore.”

 

“I n-never meant to d-deceive you, Commander. I j-just didn’t think the information was i-important.”

 

“Your Failure To Inform Me Of Her Dietary Requirements Caused Her To Become Ill. Surely You Understand That Her Health Is Vital?” 

 

“Honestly, sir, I d-don’t understand why her physical condition matters at all. Aren’t you just going to k-kill her anyway?”

 

You stop chewing. Did you hear that right? She’s just making assumptions, you’re sure of it. Papyrus promised that the two of you would work together once you made it to the surface. He couldn’t possibly be planning to murder you. 

 

You wait patiently for him to correct her, but he doesn’t speak. 

 

Alphys continues. “Wouldn’t the human being in a w-weakened s-state make your plan to destroy the barrier easier? One less human for you to have to f-fight.”

 

“How...Do You Know…About My Plan?”

 

Your whole body goes cold, and your heartbeat picks back up. Not out of fear this time...but out of rage. 

 

He’s using you. 

 

Sure, this isn’t new information - you’ve known from the beginning, and were fine with it so long as you got to keep living. But you really thought he’d started to give a shit. No. He’s only been taking care of you because he needs your SOUL. Once he gets what he wants, he’ll get rid of you. What a prick.

 

Alphys’s tone shifts, taking on a sinister edge. Her stutter vanishes. “I have eyes and ears everywhere, Commander. Nothing happens down here without me knowing about it.” You hear her bare feet scuffle against the tile. “When I first overheard you and your brother discussing it, I was quite impressed. I never would’ve thought that such simple creatures could come up with something so clever!” 

 

So Sans is in on it, too. Of course. You almost laugh out loud at how gullible you are. It’s hilarious! These two really had you going. 

 

Suddenly, things make a lot more sense. Sans was obviously a bit softer on the inside than his brother, so he must’ve  _ pitied _ you from the start. He probably even felt guilty. That’s why he’d been so good to you. That’s why he never asked for anything in return - to make up for what he knew was going to happen to you. For what his brother was going to do to you. 

 

Well, you don’t need his pity. You don’t need him at all. 

 

You keep quiet, and start walking back to the elevator, throwing your half-full bag of chisps into the trash on the way. You’re too pissed to need comfort food anymore.

 

Your anger simmers close to the surface, but you force it down into the pit of your stomach. You know the truth now, but you’re not going to accept it. You’re going to get out of this. You just have to play dumb until you figure out how. 

 

If you can’t, you’ll be sure to die on your own terms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Time On An Exercise Of Trust: Reader does something pretty fucking stupid.


	19. Sinking Feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's short but it isn't very sweet. Suicide mention? Like, a lot, so tread carefully.

There’s no way out of the Underground.

 

The door to the Ruins is locked from the inside. Not that the Ruins were ever an option anyway - even if you managed to make it past Toriel a second time, you’d have to climb all the way back up the chasm you fell down. You don’t have that kind of strength in you - not the way you are now. If you wanted to try that route, you’d have to wait until you’d regained some weight, and start doing pushups or pullups or something to increase your arm strength...doable, certainly, but it would take weeks, possibly months. You just don’t have that kind of time.

 

The only other place with access to the barrier is the castle, but there’s no way through the barrier unless you get your hands on a Boss Monster’s SOUL. The only Boss Monster left is Asgore, and killing him is completely impossible because you’re weak as shit. Even when you weren’t malnourished, you didn’t stand a chance against him. Back then, your frailty had saved you from the slaughter, but not it was just another roadblock between you and your goal.

 

So that’s that on that. No point in dwelling on things that can’t be done. You’d moved on to hatching a different kind of plan.

 

“Guess I’ll die,” you mutter as you dig through your dresser for something to wear. You decide on your favorite outfit - an all-black ensemble that flatters your figure perfectly [or it did, before you lost all that weight]. Might as well roll up to Hell looking like a total hottie, right?  

 

It’d been half a day since you’d gotten back from your eye-opening trip to the lab. You’re still a little worked up over it. You want to break something, like a plate, or the tv, or Sans’s face. But you can’t. Breaking his face would wake him up, and that’s the last thing you need.

 

You look over your shoulder at his sleeping form, curled up on your bed and squeezing the life out of a pillow. You’re lucky that the lingering bruises he’d left on your hips were a real boner-killer, because you’re not sure you could’ve put up with him touching you without the bitter disgust showing on your face.

 

It shows now, as you walk around the bed to pick his jacket up off the floor. You’d be taking it with you to keep you warm on your way to Snowdin...and as an added accessory as you leapt to your death. The thought of his most prized possession being consumed by lava along with you was deeply satisfying.  

 

You close the door to your borrowed home quietly, even though there’s little chance of waking Sans. The guy sleeps like a rock, or the dead - which is apt. You zip his coat up all the way and start walking, each footstep more determined than the last.

 

There’s not a shred of hesitation in you. You’re ready. You’d jumped before, months ago, and you can do it again. If you’re honest with yourself, you never expected to survive that first fall. You were ready to die then, and you’ve been ready ever since.  

 

The only problem with your plan was that it would take time to get all the way to Hotland. You could only run so fast, and for so long. Papyrus could easily catch up, and there was Sans’s teleporting to contend with, as well. But you’d stumbled upon something pretty damn useful on your way back with Papyrus earlier.

 

A ferry.

 

A creepy hooded figure with a creepy old boat that would take you up the river to Hotland, no questions asked.

 

You had no idea why Papyrus had insisted you not take the ferry. He’d been oddly vague about the whole thing. Probably some personal grudge. Nothing you cared about.    

 

It’s perfect. You’d be gone without a trace before either of your skeletal captors even noticed you were gone, and they wouldn’t even get to take your SOUL! Maybe the King would even kill them for their failure.

 

That possibility makes you smile as you step onto the Riverperson’s boat. It barely bobs beneath your meager weight. They motion for you to sit down, and once you do, the boat begins to move steadily down the river towards Waterfall.

 

The Riverperson hums a jaunty tune, which puts you at ease. At least, until the boat begins to slow, just outside Snowdin’s eastern boundary. You turn to glare at the cloaked figure, and they stretch out a withered, shadowy hand, palm-up, asking for payment.

 

But your pockets are empty, and so are Sans’s. “Uh...sorry...I don’t have any money...do you take jewelry?” You reach for the ring on your left hand, but before you can pull it off, the Riverperson has grabbed you roughly by your upper arm. They pull you close. Their voice is a whisper, like the sound of wind through reeds, and it makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.

 

“Those who cannot _pay_ ...must _swim_.”   

 

With more strength than you thought they had, they pick you up by your arm and swing you, effortlessly tossing you off the boat. You hear a pop, and feel a sharp pain in your shoulder, but it’s quickly drowned out as you enter freezing cold water.  

 

It surrounds you, leeching what warmth you had away from your skin in an instant. For a few seconds, you can’t move, your body rigid from the shock. Then, coming to your senses, you open your eyes and start to swim for the surface. Despite every effort, you sink further into the murky water. You fell deep when you were thrown from the boat, and you can’t move your left arm enough to properly swim. Your legs are slow to move, as if you’re swimming through pudding instead of water, and Sans’s heavy coat, now soaked, is dragging you down. Your lungs and your muscles are burning for air you cannot reach. Your vision starts to go dark at the edges, and you can no longer distinguish the shadow of the boat on the distant surface.

 

This isn’t how you wanted to go, but...the result will be the same, won’t it? Is throwing yourself into a pit of lava really any better? Does it matter how you die? Your plan was perfect, but dying here, like this, would be so, so easy...all you have to do is give up.

 

Your motions slow, and you let your eyes close. What little breath you have left escapes you, replaced by frigid water. As the darkness takes over, you can’t even find the will to choke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was gone a while. Sorry 'bout that. I got sick, then I misplaced my inspiration for a bit...but I found it again! Don't worry! I've pretty much got the rest of this fic planned out. Not sure how many chapters are left...maybe 5? We'll see. 
> 
> Next Time On An Exercise Of Trust: Our girl Reader ain't dead yet, despite her best efforts. Neither of the skeleton bros come to her rescue this time...it's someone else's turn to play hero. Some soft stuff, some not so soft stuff...stay tuned.


	20. Despite Your Best Effort, You're Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another short one. Don't worry, the next one is coming soon. I won't keep you waiting too long.

Papyrus isn’t expecting any company. In fact, he fully intends to take advantage of having the house to himself. He’s wearing his most luxurious pajamas, candles are lit, dinner is served, and the best episodes of his favorite soap opera are queued on the television. He can finally catch up on it without the usual commentary or disruptive snoring from Sans. 

 

He’s certainly not expecting Undyne to show up on his doorstep in the middle of the night, nor is he expecting her to be carrying a sopping wet lump of human in her arms. 

 

“What The Fuck, Undyne.”

 

“I pulled it outta the river styx,” Undyne mutters wryly. She doesn’t wait for Papyrus to invite her inside, barging through the doorway and into the living room to get out of the chill. Honestly, though, the inside of the house is only warmer than the outside by comparison. What use do skinless skeletons have for indoor heating? 

 

“I think it tried to take the ferry...I got it breathing again, but it’s all...discolored…” she looks more disgusted by this than worried, as if you’re a rotting vegetable instead of a person.

 

She’s right, though. Your skin is paler than Papyrus has ever seen it, and it’s tinged blue. You’re technically conscious; your eyes open and looking slowly around in confusion. You have no idea where you are, or how you got there. You can’t remember the name of the monster carrying you, even though Papyrus just said it out loud. You try to say his name, but your lips won’t do what you want them to, and what comes out is completely unintelligible.  

 

Papyrus looks at you with an expression you don’t think you’ve ever seen on his face before: concern, bordering on compassion. You think it looks ridiculous on him, and you burst into a fit of weak giggles.

 

“Put Her On The Couch. I’ll Go Get Something To Wrap Her In.” Undyne drops you on the sofa like she’s throwing away garbage, and Papyrus flinches at the dull ‘thump’ you make as you hit the cushions. “Gently, Undyne! You Know She’s Fragile!”

 

He leans over you to make sure you’re alright, and you smile up at him. You’re fine, of course. It’s a couch, not a pile of rocks. Besides, you can’t really feel anything. Your body’s numb for some reason. 

 

Your smile doesn’t put him at ease. “I’ll Be Right Back,” he says, heading for the stairs. “Start Heating Some Water For Tea. It Might Help. And Get Her Out Of Those Clothes.”

“Wait, ya want me to take its clothes off? No way, man, it’s  **your** human.  **You** do it.”

 

Papyrus rolls his nonexistent eyes. “Don’t Be Difficult. It’s Far More Appropriate For You To Undress Her, Given That You’re Both Female.”

 

“Fuck no.”

 

You find their conversation hilarious, and start giggling again. It’s a little too much for your sore lungs - though you can’t recall why they’re sore in the first place - and it quickly turns into a coughing fit. 

 

Thoroughly unnerved by your odd behavior, Papyrus relents, and grabs his phone from the coffee table. “Fine. I’ll Call My Brother.”

 

“How’s **that** gonna help?” Undyne asks, crossing her arms.

 

Papyrus pauses, debating whether or not he should be honest. In the end, he chooses to tell Undyne the truth - they had been friends once, after all. He knows she isn’t a gossip, and that the only monster she’s likely to tell about it is probably already aware. 

 

“At This Point, The Human Is More His Than Mine. They Got Along Well From The Beginning, But Lately Things Have Become...Physical.” He finishes dialing his brother’s number and holds the small device to the side of his head. “She Was Supposed To Be With Him Now, Actually...She Must Have Snuck Out While He Was Sleeping. Figures.” 

 

Undyne’s face twists in blatant disgust. “...I always knew he was some kinda freak, but I didn’t think...a  **human** ? Really?”

 

“I’m As Baffled As You Are,” he lies, not wanting any of that disgust aimed at him. He understands perfectly why Sans became attached. “Feel Free To Ask Him About It When He Gets Here.”

 

“No way. I don’t wanna know the details.” 

 

It goes to voicemail. Papyrus silently curses Sans for being such a heavy sleeper. “He’s Not Picking Up.”

 

After a pause, she asks, “ya don’t think it killed him, do you?”

 

He dismisses the thought immediately. “She Couldn’t, Even If She Wanted To.” And Papyrus is pretty certain she doesn’t want to. “I’ll Have To Go Get Him Myself. He’ll Be Back Here Before Me, I’m Sure. At Least Get Her Dry While I’m Gone.”

 

Undyne huffs, but kneels next to the couch and starts peeling Sans’s coat off you. “I’m only agreeing to this ‘cause I owe ya. Got it?”

 

He nods, and rushes out the door, slamming it behind him. 

 

Undyne grumbles something about you being gross and slimy, and you’d have half a mind to spit those words right back at her if only you could get your mouth working. She’s not exactly gentle as she goes about stripping you, but you don’t care. Soon enough, you’re wrapped in a ratty blanket and she’s off in the kitchen making some tea for you. 

 

No longer being jostled around by a terrifying fish lady, you’re able to relax, and realize how tired you are. Sleep sounds really good to you right now - even better than a warm drink. You curl in on yourself inside the blanket, wrapping your numb arms around your equally numb legs and drifting into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate Title: Despite Their Best Efforts, Papyrus and Undyne Are Still Friends.  
> Next Time On An Exercise Of Trust: No one knows how to fix the human. Fever-induced delirium is not your friend. Sans doesn't want Undyne anywhere near you. Fluff? Probably. Stay tuned.


	21. Too Hot To Handle [Because You Have A Fever of 103]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this took...forever...and I think it's the longest chapter? I'm too tired to edit right now...I need to sleep...

There’s a very distant commotion. You’re...not really awake for it, but you catch snippets of information - raised voices, an overturned lazy chair, a broken teacup with its contents soaking into the carpet, flashes of bright red and green. You feel yourself being moved again, and then everything goes quiet. 

 

The next time you’re fully awake, it’s because you’re freezing cold. You’re in Sans’s room, lying on his uncovered mattress, the sheets loosely wrapped around you. You’ve been sweating in your sleep, and the moisture has soaked into the fabric closest to your skin, making you feel clammy and just plain gross. With a rush of panic, you realize that you can’t feel your hands or feet. You didn’t care before, for some reason, but now their absence terrifies you. 

 

In stark contrast to your frozen body, your neck and head feel like they’re on fire. There’s an inferno behind your eyes, and you desperately want to press your chilled hands to your face to try and cool it down. 

 

You shift in your blanket cocoon, but end up in agonizing pain. Something is very,  _ very _ wrong - your shoulder is wrong, somehow, and it  _ hurts like a bitch _ . You’re too weak to cry out, and if you were more lucid, you’d probably be embarrassed by the pathetic whimper you make instead.

 

Luckily there’s only one person around, and he’s not inclined to make fun of you for it - not yet, anyway. He’ll definitely give you a hard time about it later, but right now, Sans is just relieved to see that you’re awake. You’ve been unconscious, ice cold and barely breathing, for  _ hours _ . Undyne was convinced you were dead, ready to take your SOUL the second you stopped responding. 

 

He moves into your line of sight and smiles tiredly at you. The shadows under his eye sockets are more pronounced than usual, and you know it’s not due to lack of sleep. When he speaks, his voice sounds strained. 

 

“there ya are...glad to have ya back, babygirl…” 

 

He rests one clawed hand on the side of your head, running his thumb over your cheek. He leans forward to press his forehead to yours...and immediately jolts back.

 

“why are ya all hot now…?” 

 

You open your mouth to try and explain fevers to him, but the moment you do, your jaw starts to chatter uncontrollably. The rest of your body follows suit, as if suddenly realizing how cold it is, and that it should probably be doing something about it.   

 

“n’ yer shiverin’...thought ya only did that when yer cold?” he looks completely baffled. “what’s wrong with ya, sweetheart?” 

 

You can’t answer him. Your mind and your mouth aren’t cooperating. 

 

Sans’s expression shifts to concern, and he curses under his breath. “fuck...i can’t...i don’t know how to help ya…” 

 

You try again to free yourself from the sweat-soaked blanket, wincing from the pain in your shoulder but working through it. Sans catches on quick. He takes a seat on the mattress beside you and helps you sit up. He peels away the layers of fabric he wrapped you in and, finding the soggy inner layer, removes it and throws it onto the floor. You’re thankful it’s just Sans in the room with you. You’re not sure how you’d feel if Papyrus saw you this...exposed. 

 

With his sheets bunched up around your waist, you half expect Sans to give you his usual leer...but his eye-lights are locked on your shoulder. You glance at it and realize why - it’s obviously dislocated. Not only is the entire area a deep purple-red, but the bone itself is jutting out at an odd angle, and the arm attached is lying limp at your side. Sans looks horrified.

 

You’ve never dislocated anything before, but you at least know how to fix it...kinda. You’re pretty sure you just have to push it back into the socket. If you were on your own, you’d slam it against something like they do in the movies, and hope for the best. But you’re not on your own. 

 

With your other hand - which is starting to regain some feeling - you do your best to show Sans what needs to be done to set it back in place. His horrified expression intensifies for just a second when he realizes what you’re asking, but he gets over it quickly. 

 

He braces you with one hand on your good shoulder, and gently places the other on your dislocated one. “this ain’t gonna be fun,” he mutters, and you get the feeling he’s speaking to himself as well as you. “on the count’a three, got it?” 

 

You nod, and close your eyes. You try to relax as much as you can despite your shivering.

 

“okay.” He takes a breath. “one…” 

 

There’s a sharp pain and a sickening pop as he forces your shoulder back into the socket, not bothering to complete the count-down. It’s probably for the best - you know you would’ve tensed up, or even flinched away. 

 

The pain of it brings tears to your already watery eyes, and you let out another weak whimper. 

 

Sans shushes and soothes you, bringing the sheets back up around your shoulders before pulling you in to rest against his chest. His embrace is a little bonier than usual without the extra buffer of his coat. Still, he’s wonderfully warm for a skeleton, and you find yourself unable to resist cuddling up to him. 

 

The two of you stay like that for a good while. It’s silent aside from the chatter of your teeth. Every once in a while, Sans checks to make sure you’re still conscious. 

 

Slowly, your body starts to warm, and your shivering subsides. Your shoulder aches, but the pain is dull compared to what it was. Your fever becomes the most pressing concern. You need water, but you’re not sure you’ll be able to convince Sans to leave you alone, even for just a minute. 

 

Luckily, there’s a knock at the door. “Sans? I Understand You Are Being...Protective...But I Demand An Update Regarding The Human’s Condition.” When Sans’s doesn’t respond right away, he adds, “...Is She All Right?”

 

“she’s awake,” is Sans’s only response. 

 

Papyrus seems to take this as an invitation, and enters the room. Since the time you last saw him, he’s gotten dressed into his usual clothes. He looks just as tired as his brother does, which you find strange, as you’re pretty sure he doesn’t need sleep. He’s holding Sans’s coat. “I Just Pulled This Out Of The Dryer And Thought You Might Want It,” he says sheepishly. 

 

Sheepishly? Now that’s out of character. 

 

“thanks, bro.” Sans reaches out to take it from the taller skeleton, and wastes no time putting it on you. It’s still warm from the dryer, and the fur around the collar is fluffier than you remember. You’re a tad disappointed to find that it smells clean instead of smoky-sweet, but it’s fine - here in Sans’s room, the scent of his magic is everywhere. 

 

“Is There Anything I Can Do?” 

 

Sans shrugs. “dunno. she won’t talk to me. i think she’s gettin’ better, but…” he trails off, at a loss for words. 

 

You decide to give talking another try. Your throat is cracked and dry, and your lungs are sore, but you manage one word.

 

“Water…” it’s barely a whisper, but both brothers manage to hear it. Sans shoots Papyrus a pleading look, and the other skeleton rushes out of the room. He’s back moments later with a glass of water in hand. 

 

Sans supports the weight of the glass as you drink, gulping it down like you just came back from a day trip to Hotland. The cold water against the roof of your mouth soothes your fever slightly. When you’re done, you make a second request: “something cold...for my...for my head…” Just like that, Papyrus is gone again. 

 

It feels strange to be doted on like this. Not that you hadn’t been sick before, you’d just always dealt with it on your own. You’d take some medication and muddle through, knowing perfectly well that your mother wouldn’t tolerate any complaints. 

 

Looking back, you realize you’ve never been quite this sick before. Or this badly injured. You’re in the worst shape of your life, and yet...you feel okay. Right here, right now, you feel cared for. You feel safe. 

 

It hurts to know that none of it’s real. That it’s all a trick. You press your forehead against Sans’s sternum and start crying again, letting the tears fall silently in an attempt to hide from him how upset you are. You meant to keep your anger and grief to yourself, but it’s as if he’s tuned in to your every emotion. 

 

He is, in fact. He’s gotten pretty good at recognizing changes in your SOUL. With you this close, he doesn’t need to hold it to sense how you’re feeling. 

 

He pushes you back slightly so he can see you, and takes your face into his hands. He tries to wipe the tears away, but they keep falling. “what’s wrong, babygirl? i can’t fix it if ya don’t tell me what’s wrong…” 

 

You can’t stand the way he’s looking at you. It’s such a soft expression. He’s abandoned his intimidating facade completely, and all that’s left is pure affection, clear as day. Your face scrunches reflexively, and you have to grit your teeth to keep yourself from letting out a sob. He shouldn’t get to look at you like that. It’s not fair.

 

And then he goes and says your name. Not ‘sweetheart,’ or ‘babygirl,’ but  _ your name _ . You haven’t heard it said out loud in months, and hearing him say it like that - spoken like a wish, or a prayer - is too much. What right does he have to make you feel like this? Like you could be  _ loved _ …? 

 

It breaks you. You start to cry in earnest, pulling your face out of his hands and crumpling in on yourself. “Why are you doing this?” you ask between ragged sobs. “Why are you being so kind to me...if you’re just going to kill me?” 

He stiffens, going completely still. “...what?”

 

“That’s the plan, isn’t it? The real one?” you ask bitterly. “I overheard Papyrus and Alphys talking…” you trail off as your sobs take over again. 

 

Sans sighs. “okay...okay. guess i gotta explain some stuff, huh? yer safe, babygirl, nobody’s gonna kill ya. ‘specially not us. lemme talk for a while, all ya gotta do is listen.” 

 

You’re taken aback by how earnest he sounds. You...you want to believe him. You really, really do. But his explanation is gonna have to be damn good for you to buy it. 

 

“my bro and i have been workin’ on somethin’ in secret for a while now. it was his idea...trickin’ asgore into lettin’ him go to the surface, then usin’ human souls to break the barrier for good. we were doin’ a pretty good job at keepin’ it under wraps, but i ain’t surprised alphys caught on.” 

 

He pauses, looking a bit guilty. “what ya heard...ain’t wrong, exactly. killin’ ya was plan ‘a.’ but, well...we decided against it. ya can’t go spreadin’ this around, but we might’a developed a bit of a soft spot for ya. we’re onto plan ‘b’ now. it’s the same plan, minus the part where ya die.” 

 

Well that’s a relief. Your sobs have quieted to sniffles, and you sit back up. You wipe your face on the sleeve of Sans’s coat, confident that he won’t care. When Papyrus gets back, you’ll have to send him to get more water for you to replace what you lost while crying. 

 

He places a hand on your back and runs it up and down over the fabric plush fabric. “we didn't expect ya to find out at all. thought we could just move forward with the new plan without havin’ to bring it up.” 

 

You choke out a laugh. “Figures you’d try to avoid the problem.” 

 

“sorry, sweetheart...i honestly thought you’d be better off not knowin’.” 

 

“You’re probably right.” Heartache is what you get for not minding your own business. 

 

Eventually, Papyrus returns, having procured a plastic bag filled with snow. You’re not sure why it took him so long to get it, but you’re glad to finally have something to put on your forehead to cool it down. You explain what you know about fevers to the brothers, and that without medication, there’s not a lot you can do besides wait. 

 

So they wait. 

 

You drift in and out of delirium for who-knows-how-long. Papyrus has work, but stops by periodically to make you drink water. Sans is always there when you open your eyes, either sitting or lying on the bed next to you, usually asleep. There are a few times where it’s the sound of his voice that wakes you up. You’re never sure what he’s saying to you - he stops once he realizes you’re awake, and looks at you with enough fondness to make your heart melt. 

 

The exact moment your fever breaks, you have an epiphany. There’s absolutely no way you can be bound to Papyrus. You were comfortable with idea before shit hit the fan, but now...now? You’re not even sure it’s possible. 

Your SOUL made it's choice a long time ago, and it chose Sans. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Time On An Exercise Of Trust: I don't know. probably drama. Reader comes up with a plan 'c' that quickly turns into a plan 'd'. Stay tuned.


	22. More Than One Way To Steal A SOUL

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Papyrus have a heart-to-heart about what needs to go down. You're...surprisingly on the same page about a lot of things.
> 
> Also the Google Doc for this has officially reached 100 pages...which makes it the longest fic I've ever written? You guys are to thank for that, honestly. Without your feedback, I wouldn't have the motivation to keep writing...so thanks! <3

You sit at the kitchen table, pushing food around on your plate. It’s some kind of pasta you’ve never seen before mixed with a vegetable you’ve never eaten and drowned in a sauce you’ve never heard of. It’s to die for, but Papyrus made way too much, and you only had enough room in your stomach for half of what he’d served you.

You get the feeling Sans told him about your minor mental breakdown and your ‘concerns’ regarding the plan. You’ve been fever-free for two full days, and are starting to get sick of him doting on you. All the attention he’s showering you with is probably his way of proving you’re not expendable. You suppose you should appreciate it, but it just makes you feel weird - almost claustrophobic.

You scratch at your scalp, which is sore from the tight pigtails Papyrus had pulled your hair into after your most recent shower. He insisted that your damp hair be kept away from your neck to prevent you from getting sick again. You look ridiculous, but he’s not entirely wrong, so you’ve been putting up with it. 

There’s also the chance it might make Sans laugh when he sees it, and you’re willing to do anything to get him to lighten up. He’s been downright dour since you woke up. He hasn’t cracked a single joke, or played a single prank. Weirdest of all, he’s been sticking around his sentry station for his entire shift, which is completely out of character for him. It’s suspicious enough that even Papyrus is starting to wonder what he’s up to.

He’s even acting odd towards you. It’s like your relationship with him has been reset. He’s giving you distance you don’t want - several feet of personal space when you’re walking around, sitting on the opposite end of the couch, sleeping so close to the edge of his own bed that he ends up on the floor by morning...what the hell happened? Was it something you said? 

His sudden absence makes you feel exposed and vulnerable in a way you haven’t felt since befriending him. You’d only just started closing the gap between the two of you, moving away from casual friendship and towards something closer, and yet you’d already gotten accustomed to his roaming hands and gentle words. The way he’d looked at you when he thought you were on your deathbed, that soft expression...no one’s ever looked at you like that, and you’d do anything to see it again. 

But, uh, not literally anything. You’re sure there are ways to bring out his softer side without almost dying. You just have to figure out why he’s decided to back off so suddenly. 

You hear footsteps, and Papyrus returns to the kitchen to check on you. He’s only been gone for five minutes. He glances at your plate and narrows his eye-sockets. 

“You’ve Barely Touched The Delicious Meal I Painstakingly Prepared For You.”

“Come on, boss, I ate like...half of it,” you insist, gesturing at the empty space. 

“You Hate It.” He sighs, his tone one of defeat. “Is It The Sauce? Or Do You Not Like Kohlrabi?”

You rush to reassure him, “no, it’s delicious. Really, I loved it, I just can’t eat it all!”

He perks up. “Really? Hm. I Suppose I Shouldn’t Be Surprised. You Are Quite Small, Even For A Human...I Remember Mettaton Saying As Much. Surely Your Stomach Is Proportional To The Rest Of Your Body.” You nod vigorously. “Very Well. We Shall Save The Rest Of It For Later. I Will Put It In The Refrigerator...Feel Free To Help Yourself If You Get Hungry.” He pulls a plastic contained from a cabinet above the sink and starts shoveling the pasta into it. 

You tap your fingers on the table, wondering if you should ask the question that’s been on your mind for a while. You’re not one to think things through thoroughly, so you end up just going for it.

“Is the SOUL Bond absolutely necessary?”

“Only If You Value Your Life,” Papyrus responds offhandedly. He immediately reconsiders his words, given recent events. “Yes. Yes, It’s Necessary.” He pops the plastic container into the fridge and joins you at the kitchen table. “It Takes One Human SOUL And One Monster SOUL To Pass Through The Barrier.”

“And you can’t use one of the SOULs that the King already has?”

“No,” he sounds exasperated by his own answer. “I Considered It, Long Before You Fell, But The King Would Never Agree To It. He Thinks Of Them As Trophies - Proof Of His Power Over Humans...And Other Monsters, As Well.” You can hear the bitterness in his voice. “He Has No Interest In Freeing Monsterkind. He Fears That Their Freedom Would Be The End Of His Reign...And He’s Right. Once The Barrier Is Broken, Not Even He Could Stop Everyone From Leaving.” 

“Huh. He’s a pretty shitty King, huh?”

Papyrus stifles a laugh. “Do Not Say That! Someone Might Hear…” He glances around the kitchen, as if searching for the cameras he knows he’ll never find. Then, with a sly grin, he leans forward, and admits in a stage-whisper, “...But Yes. He’s A Very Shitty King.” He seems to remember something. “He Was Less Awful When The Queen Was Still Alive. She Kept His Homicidal Tendencies In Check. She Was...Intimidating...But She Cared For Her People. She Only Wanted The Best For Them, Even If It Meant The End Of The Monarchy. That’s Why...That’s Why He Got Rid Of Her, I Think.” 

“Yikes.” 

“‘Yikes’ Indeed.”

Getting back to your original question, “it has to be my SOUL, then?”

“I’m Afraid So.” He scratches a razor-sharp claw along his equally sharp cheekbone. “Otherwise, There Would Be No Point In Keeping You Alive. The King May Not Consider You A Worthy Prize, But That Doesn’t Mean He’ll Let You Live If You Don’t Fulfill Your Purpose.”

Yeah, you figured as much. You’re not the brightest, but it doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together. If you wanted to be free, to return to the surface, you’d have to give up your SOUL for it. Magic was starting to seem less like a bonus and more like a consolation prize…

So it has to be you. But...does it have to be Papyrus, too? “Are you sure you want to go through with this?” 

His response is immediately, without even the slightest hint of hesitation. “Certainly.”

“It’s permanent, though...and most Monsters don’t seem to like the idea of being Bound to a human.”

“I Am Not Most Monsters,” he asserts, sitting a bit taller in the kitchen chair and puffing out his chest. “And Even If I Saw Things Their Way, Such A ‘Sacrifice’ Would Still Be Worth It. I Speak For All Of Monsterkind When I Say That If I Have To Spend The Remainder Of My Life In This Pit Of Despair, I’ll Go Completely Fucking Insane.” 

You start a bit at his use of profanity, and end up giggling. “So it’s not just you, then? Everyone feels the same?”

“Of Course. Anyone Would Do The Same If They Were In My Place. It’s Just That No One Has Had The Opportunity That I Have Been Presented With. I Can Only Take Credit For My Excellent Plan...Discovering You Was Pure Luck.” 

“So, theoretically, anyone could form the SOUL Bond with me and the results would be the same?” You ask a bit sheepishly. You want answers, but you don’t want Papyrus to get the wrong idea.

But he’s quick to pick up on what you’re implying. “You Make It Sound Like You Don’t Want To Be Bound To Me. And Here I Thought We Were Starting To Trust One Another...”

“We are!” You do trust him, far more than you ever thought you could. “I’m just curious.” 

Papyrus thinks about it. “Theoretically, Yes. But In Practice, It Would Not Go Over Well. The Only Reason The King Has Approved This Bond Is Because I Am A High-Ranking And Trusted Member Of His Royal Guard. There Are Others, Of Course - Undyne, For Example - Who He Would Also Grant His Approval To. However, I Doubt She’d Be Willing, Given Her Current...Relationship Status…” He pauses, and fixes you with a knowing look - the closest thing to sympathy you’ve ever seen on his face. “It Can’t Be Sans. I’m Sorry.”

Ah. So you’re that transparent, huh? You can fake confidence and stifle fear, but you apparently can’t do anything to hide how you feel about Sans. “Why not?”

“For Starters, He’s Not A Member Of The Royal Guard. He’s Merely A Sentry - Not Even Officially, Since I’m The One Who Appointed Him. The King Would Only Send Someone He Trusts Across The Barrier...And Sans Has Not Earned That.” 

He leans forward and clasps his hands together on the table. “Additionally, My Brother Is...Fragile. Not Nearly As Fragile As You, But More So Than Most. I Worry He Wouldn’t Be Able To Survive If He Encountered Even One Hostile Human On The Surface.”

“I’d be there with him, y’know.”

He rolls the lights within his eye-sockets. “What A Relief.” 

“Hey, I can hold my own!”

“A Stiff Breeze Could Knock You Over, And You’re Too Small To Make For A Decent Meat Shield. Frankly, You’d Be Less Of A Liability If You Stayed Behind...But That’s Out Of The Question.” 

You cross your arms and pout, but Papyrus is unmoved.

He goes on, “Finally - And Don’t You Dare Tell Him I Said This - Sans Doesn’t Really Have The Nerve To Kill Anyone. He’s Always Been...Soft. Just Look At How Easily He Became Attached To You!” He carefully considers his words, “He Sees Things In People. Knows Things About Them That He Shouldn’t. I’ve Never Been Able To Understand It, But...I Know He’d Have A Difficult Time Finding Humans Awful Enough To Make Taking Their SOULs Seem Justified. And Those That Deserve To Be Killed Would No Doubt Be Able To Dust Him Without Much Effort.” 

The last thing you want is for Sans to get hurt. But...there are plenty of other methods that Papyrus doesn’t seem to have considered. Or maybe he just doesn’t know about them? 

“Okay, look. I’m all for straight-up violence, but...there are other ways to get human SOULs. People die every day. Like, a lot. Constantly. If it were me and Sans, instead of me and you, we could take a less direct approach.”

“How Do You Mean?”

“I could hang out in a hospital,” you suggest with a shrug. “Hell, I’m going to have to, anyway, with the condition I’m in. I could gather the SOULs of the recently deceased and hand them over to Sans. It might take a couple days, but at least he won’t be in danger, right?” 

For a split second, Papyrus seems hopeful. In the end, though, he shakes his head. “No. The King Would Never Allow It. Your Method Will Still Work, Once You And I Reach The Surface, But...His Majesty Would Never Trust Sans Enough To Bind You.” 

“So we do it without his permission.”

“It’s Not Just His Permission We Need. His Magic Is Necessary To Complete The Bond. It’s Something Only A Boss Monster Can Do.”

“Okay, so we find another Boss Monster.” Papyrus frowns. “You can’t tell me there’s only one?”

“Currently, Yes. The Others Are...No Longer With Us, I’m Afraid. He Wanted To Be Sure That The Throne Could Not Be Stolen From Him By His Own Kind. King Asgore Will Be The Last, But So Long As He Is Not Killed, He Will Remain Alive Indefinitely.”

You saf in your chair. “Well, fuck me sideways.”

“Eloquently Put, Human. I Share Your Frustration.” There’s a long silence between the two of you, which is only broken when Papyrus reaches easily across the table to rest his spindly hand on yours. “If It Makes You Feel Better, I Will Not Stand Between You And My Brother. Sans May Be Difficult At Times, But...He Has Always Had My Best Interest In Mind. His Happiness Is Important To Me. I Would Not Do Anything To Take It From Him.” 

“Thanks,” you mutter, though his words don’t really put you at ease. You really need to talk to Sans about all this. Papyrus agrees to give the two of you space when his brother gets back from work later on. He’s noticed the odd, distant behavior as well, and wants answers the same as you do. Hopefully you can force him to admit what’s been eating at him these past few days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Papyrus needs a lot of reassurance, but...he's getting there.
> 
> Might have over-used the '...' in this chapter, but I don't care! Those three dots are my friends, dammit. I'll feature them in my writing as often as I please!
> 
> Also, writing Papyrus's dialogue is A Pain In My Ass. He's lucky I love him, or I woudn't let him talk as much as I do...
> 
> Next Time On An Exercise Of Trust: Things get kinda mushy, and very fluffy. Stay tuned!

**Author's Note:**

> As of 6/14/2019, the tumblr I'll be using to post these will be aces-mild-fics. Feel free to direct any questions/comments there, or continue to talk to me through AO3. Sorry for any confusion, and thanks for your patience!


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